An American Tale: Evil Begets Evil
by Mharvey
Summary: Written with an attempt J.K. Rowling style, this is the story of Keith Hillsfar, a young southern wizard with a big heart, and his first year at Castagloria School of Sorcery in America.
1. Chapter 1: Underwater Revelations

Chapter 1: Underwater Revelation  
  
Keith felt a surge of excitement as he dropped the gnome that he had just plucked from a bail of hay. They were disgusting little buggers that loved to make Keith's life difficult for him! Before it hit the ground, he drove his foot straight through it. Ah, the sight of the squealing little creature flipping head over heels was enough to bring a thin smile to his lips. It soared out the window of the barn and landed in the creek outside with a plop.  
  
Yes, Keith was a wizard. He had known this fact all his life and had been raised on the invisible boundaries of the magical world. With a Muggle (non-magical) mother and a wizard father, he got to experience the best of the American Wizarding World and the American Muggle World. He knew nothing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry other than the fact his father had studied abroad over there about twenty years before. He knew the famous Auror Harry Potter only by name; who hadn't heard of the Man-Who- Lived, after all? Who really cared though - it wasn't like his name would ever be on a test. The teachers did like to challenge their children, after all. Questions about the most famous modern-day wizard, next to Albus Dumbledore, would be outright gimmies.  
  
He drew his wand and waved it at the bail of hay, calling out in his southerly accented voice, "Faramartho!" The cube of dry grass shifted radically, fading away from view entirely. Keith smirked with triumph and dropped to a knee, picking up a small needle that had taken its place. Yep, he could use magic at his age. He knew not of any regulations that most of the rest of the world shared; in America, it was legal at all ages. A quick glance to the loft above his head gave him an estimate on the space he had for storage. It would be autumn soon, and the cows would need feed for the winter.  
  
Keith mopped his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. Magic could be so tiring sometimes. In all his eleven years, he had learned only one or two spells that helped his mother around the barn. His brother Jethro had tried to teach him more, but Keith really had no desired to read his spellbooks. Geez, were those spells complicated. It was a wonder that anyone was able to cast them.  
  
Hand over hand, the young boy climbed the ladder and transported about fifteen needles in his pocket to the spacious loft. With the counter- curse, he was able to restore them to the haystacks they once were. His father had told him never to leave hay in needle form for too long. It was bad for the cows.  
  
Keith climbed down, affirming that his chores for the day were done. He removed a roll of parchment from his pocket and read down the list. It was written in loopy, green ink.  
  
1. Degnome the hay and move it into the loft  
  
2. Scrub the floors of the kitchen  
  
3. Feed the horses.  
  
He had done steps two and three already, having animated the magical brushes with a simple spell. The third, he had to do by hand. That was fine, however. He enjoyed the company of the three fine steeds that were kept on Hillsfar ranch. His favorite was a large, butterscotch horse named Caramel - he had named her when he was eight.  
  
And so, with a smile of satisfaction, Keith stepped outside the barn and took in some of the heavily scented air. A life in Alabama, living on families farm had hardened him to the usual smell of animals and manure - to him, they smelt like home. The sun was high and bright today, telling him that it was time to play. He followed the creek outside the barn toward his home.  
  
He pushed back his cloak and wiped the sweat from his brow. For a moment, he wondered where Jethro was. He realized that he was probably sitting on his hammock, working on new, clever ways of being useless. Jethro was going into ninth grade at Castagloria School of Sorcery, and boy could he finish his chores fast. He even had three times as many! On some days, his mother could fill up a foot worth of parchment with all the things Jethro had to do, and he'd get them done in a few minutes. A simple spell there, a careful hex there, and he was reading his stupid comic books minutes later.  
  
Sure enough, Keith found his diligent, yet lazy brother laying in his hammock, a bit further up the creek. The Hillsfar ranch consisted of fields, a creek a barn and a farm house, all spread over a fifty acre plot of land. It wasn't the biggest farm in the South, but it was large enough for the Hillsfars and their five children, of which Keith was the second born.  
  
"Don't ya bust yerself too much, Jethro!" called Keith as he stomped over, "I reckon comin' to help me in the barn was beyond ya, huh?"  
  
Jethro put down his comic - the character in front stuck out his tongue at Keith. "Hush you. busy."  
  
Keith just kept walking past him, his ears blazing red. Keith wasn't exactly small, but compared to big, dumb Jethro, he was a shrimp. Trying to put himself at ease, he began whistling a catchy, high-spirited song. A few stanzas put him at the front of his farmhouse, a good three story colonial that had been around for hundreds of years. Magic kept her looking modern and tip-top, and would continue for all time.  
  
He strolled on into the kitchen, where his mother was making lunch. The smell of hardy chili and sliced cabbage filled the kitchen, watering Keith's mouth something awful.  
  
"Hey ma," said Keith as he moved over to the sink and washed his hands. "Finished the job in the barn. Jethro's bein a lazy good-fer-nothin' like usual. thought ya outta know."  
  
Mary Jane Hillsfar gave a motherly smile, you know, that smile a mother gives her child whenever she was trying to appease him. She was a portly woman in her mid-thirties, her brown hair tied in a bun behind her head. "Jethro's finished his work, now hasn't he?"  
  
"But ma," whined Keith, squaring his shoulders to her as he wiped his hands on a cloth, "it ain't fair. pop ain't taught me those fancy spells Jethro's doin! I gotta work three times harder!"  
  
His mother cackled once mirthlessly and dumped a platter of veggies into the non-magical crockpot. Keith had heard the argument between her and his father about electricity. She had said that 'she'd done gone kill herself if she couldn't have electricity in the house', and finally dad had cracked. "And I don't got no magic at all! Growed up doin' things the old fashion way. stop yer whinin'."  
  
Keith growled, sounding like an agitated puppy. His father was always about doing things the magic way. Proud Tories die hard, and the Hillsfar line were pureblooded wizards that traced their roots back to England. In fact, Keith was the first generation of Half-blood wizards in his family history. Probably why he didn't see much of his father's relatives. They didn't much like coming around the farm and lowering themselves.  
  
But, his mother always filled up the house on Thanksgiving and Christmas, be sure of that. With more uncles and aunts than he could count, there little old farm turned into a zoo. With relatives all over South Carolina, Mississippi and Alabama, the number of Muggle cousins Keith had was astounding. Of course, those days weren't all that fun; he couldn't use magic in front of them. More than once, pop had to Memory Charm a cousin or two that walked into his room. The scream said it all -- they had seen the picture of his grandmother, Barbara Malfoy. Naturally, being a pureblood, she would always scream just as loud when a Muggle entered the room and try to shoo them out.  
  
He stomped out of the kitchen, feeling useless. Deciding to try and expand his mind, Keith flopped on the sofa in the family room and pulled one of Jethro's spellbooks from underneath his couch. Transfiguration Trials and You: Second Year. He flipped open to a random page and began to read about how to turn shoes into pigeons. He didn't get further than the fifth line, however, when he heard a whoosh through the open window. He glanced up just in time to roll off the sofa. A hawk flew through the air, right where his head had been, and landed himself on a perch near the ceiling. It dropped five letters into a bin and squawked at Keith testily.  
  
"Yea, yea, hold yer horses." grumbled the boy as he reached over the coffee table and into the peanut bowl. He tossed a peanut over to the hawk. It snagged it contently, and flew out the window from which it came.  
  
With a lazy toss, he tossed the book aside and stood, clambering stiffly over to the mail bin. He reached in and grabbed the five letters, flipping front to back and looking for something of interest.  
  
"Oh, lookie Ma," laughed Keith once, a bit sarcastically. He held up a moving picture of a huge pumpkin being suspended over the heads of about seven wizards. It was a special pamphlet sent out to all wizards in the Grenich area. "The Rickerson's done beat their old record. a pumpkin that weighs two tons and is as big as a house! They one first place at the fair!"  
  
"Your daddy's gonna be raw," replied his mother's voice from the kitchen. "He's been tryin to get that Growth Charm working for months."  
  
Keith needed no reminder of his father's temper tantrum when, two years ago, he reversed the Growth charm into a Shrinking hex in front of the whole town and finished in dead last with a pumpkin that had to be measured under a magnifying glass. No, Charms were definitely not a Hillsfar talent.  
  
He continued flipping through the mail until his fingers stopped over a letter addressed to him. It was a simple, beige envelope with a multicolored seal. A fourth was devoted to red, brown, blue and green respectively. He noticed that Jethro had a very similar one. This could only mean one thing.  
  
"Ma!" he called out again, enthusiastically. "The Castagloria letters are here!"  
  
She came in, scrubbing her hands with a washcloth. "That's nice, sweetie. Read it to me."  
  
With trembling hands, Keith cracked the seal and removed the letter from within. It was written in the same green ink as the front, the penmanship immaculately refined.  
  
Castagloria School of Sorcery  
  
Principle: Joseph Griffith, (Order of Merlin 6th Class, Archmagi o. Massachusetts Diesis, Godric Prize 1992)  
  
Dear Keith Hillsfar,  
  
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been successfully enrolled at Castagloria School of Sorcery for the fall Semester 2005.  
  
Enclosed with your letter is a list of school supplies that you will need to successfully negotiate your first year of school. All the books that you will need can be purchased new, with exception to Hallora Kain's book: Complete Idiot's Guide to Dark Arts 27th edition, which must be purchased new. Kain's books have always been moody like that.  
  
As a reminder, first years are encouraged to bring a small pet no larger than a basketball. They will be essential in your Transfiguration Classes. All of your supplies can be purchased on Gartherid's Boulevard. Also included is a coupon for a free sample of Bernie Phillips' (The Potions Instructor this year) Every Flavor Softdrink, which can be purchased on the Boulevard at his retail store.  
  
I look forward to seeing you at school, Keith.  
  
Sincerely, Mrs. R.J. Coltrain Assistant Principle  
  
"Awesome!" exclaimed Keith, dropping the letter onto the ground and dancing in place. He needed to get the energy out of his system somehow. "When can we go? When can we go?"  
  
His mother simply smiled wearily. "Not 'til yer father gets home from work."  
  
"But, ma," pressed Keith eagerly, "that ain't fer a few hours!"  
  
She crossed her arms and again took up that mother smile that put Keith back in line. "I can give ya some jobs - take yer mind right off this 'til he gets home."  
  
Keith shook his head furiously and growled once again.  
  
"Go check on yer sisters," ordered Mary with a kind tone. "Think all yer shoutin' might have awakened them."  
  
Keith grumbled and left the family room, heading up the creaky, wooden stairs that screamed in protest, quite literally, whenever he stepped on one.  
  
"AHHH!"  
  
"Y'all shut-up," muttered Keith, shaking his head and glancing down at his feet. Well, if he hadn't awakened his sisters before, that certainly had done it.  
  
His father had, for some reason, felt safer by putting a Screaming Hex on the stairs. Keith never understood why, it was a real pain in the butt when his kid brother Dennis went down stairs at midnight, every night, without fail, to get a glass of water. His little brother didn't sleep well - bad dreams always awakened him at crazy hours. The only thing they'd be good for was if someone wanted to break into the house!  
  
He entered a small room at the end of the corridor on the second floor. The sound of bawling was a good indication that his sisters had indeed been awoken. Carmen and Michelle, the two twins, had each been given their own cribs, but were fast outgrowing them. Michelle was standing up and throwing her toys around the room, having some kind of fit.  
  
"Easy, easy," coaxed Keith as he drew near to Michelle. Her reply was a louder scream, and a rubber duck, thrown accurately at Keith's head. With a sigh, he decided to give Michelle a chance to cool off and moved over to his other sister's crib. Carmen was sucking her thumb passively, watching Michelle with innocent interest.  
  
Keith liked Carmen better.  
  
After finally managing to calm Michelle down by filling her bottle with milk and returning, he went back outside. Swimming in the creek was always a way to pass the time, and so, he decided that he'd do just that. Besides, he hadn't visited Uncle Martin in a week.  
  
He shed Jethro's old cloak and kicked off his sneakers. Beneath his brown cloak, he wore blue jeans and a t-shirt. After pulling off the t- shirt and rolling up the cuffs of his jeans, he waded into the creek, pushing aside a few reeds that grew out of the shallows. Jethro watched him from his hammock for a second or two, but decided that Radiation Man was more interesting than his brother.  
  
Keith swam out about a fourth the way across the water, to a point where he knew from experience was rather deep. He took a few heavy breaths and surface dove, pushing himself underwater with a few quick kicks. This area of the creek was about twenty-feet deep, but from his years of swimming, he had become rather skilled at holding his breath. He was athletic, always working on his chores, swimming in his spare time, or running into town to meet his friends. Today, however, he wanted to be home when his father was.  
  
Out of the murky depths, an old fashioned truck came into view. From within, Keith could hear the sounds of watery snoring, deep inhalations and bubbles. He leveled himself with the truck door and peered inside. The water blurred his vision, but he could see the ghostly form of his uncle, sleeping in the driver's seat. With a smirk, Keith knocked on the driver's side window with his knuckle.  
  
"Whoa. what? Whose'er?" snorted his Uncle as he jerked wide-awake. The ghost turned his body toward the knocking and rolled down the window. "Oh, howdy there Keith. I'd invite ya in, but I reckon ye couldn't stay around all that long, huh?"  
  
Keith shook his head, but continued smirking.  
  
"So, why ain't ye in school? What day is it?"  
  
Due to the fact that most of their communication was rather one way, Keith couldn't answer him all that well. He held up six fingers, however.  
  
"Saturday, eh? Well, that'd explain why ye ain't in school," replied his uncle. "Guess I musta been sleepin since ye last came 'round."  
  
Keith shrugged unknowingly, his chest beginning to tighten a bit due to lack of air.  
  
His uncle gave him a look that must have shown some degree of annoyance. "Boy, when are ye gonna get an aqualung er somethin'? It'd make this whole visitin' thing much easier."  
  
Keith shrugged again. In truth, with the pittance allowance he was getting from his mother, he could barely afford a candy bar when he went into town.  
  
"Anyway, how's yer ma n' pop? N' that annoyin little squirt Jethro?"  
  
Keith held out his hand and gave two thumbs up, and then gave a thumbs down, his smirk turning into a frown.  
  
"Jethro still givin' ye a 'ard time, eh?" continued his uncle.  
  
Keith held up his finger, as the desire to breath began to take its toll and force his resolve. He kicked off the ground and a few moments later, broke through the surface with a gasp.  
  
"So, how's Uncle Martin doing?" called Jethro from his hammock.  
  
Keith gave him the evil eye, while he regained his breath. "Why don't ye get off yer butt and see fer yerself." he said, in between pants. "Oh right, ah forgot. ye can't even hold yer breath at all."  
  
Jethro smirked and continued reading his comic book. How he could still be on the same one after all this time was rather a mystery. "Ah'm a sorcerer of Air, moron. I don't do the swimmin' thing."  
  
Keith's breathing returned to normal. He wasn't entirely sure what his brother meant by the Sorcerer of Air thing, but he knew that it had something to do with his magical specialty and placement in school. "Ye ain't much for doin' anything well that don't be requirin' magic!"  
  
Jethro waved his hand dismissingly and seemed on the verge of making a comment, but Keith had already surface dove again and a few seconds later, was back with Martin, who was waiting for him expectantly.  
  
"Ye ferget about Jethro," his uncle said, "I heard it all. don't ye be thinkin' magic'll replace everythin in yer life. Magic be only a tool - make sure ye remember that."  
  
Keith nodded a few times. His uncle had been an Auror once, and had busted many Dark Wizards all across America. He had met his end a few years ago, when Keith was only four at the bottom of this creek, chained to a boulder. Yeah, he had his share of enemies in his time, could have been anyone who did it, really. Whoever had gotten the best of him that night was still at large. Maybe that's why his pop had put all sorts of security measures around the house.  
  
"When ye goin' ta be old enough to get into Wizard's school anyway. seems like ye've been eleven forever."  
  
Keith smiled excitedly, and locked his thumbs together while flapping his hands. His uncle, who was one of the best charades players alive (or dead), was able to catch onto his meaning - he had had much practice. "The hawk came? When?"  
  
Keith touched the tip of his thumb to his index finger, making a zero.  
  
"Just today!" exclaimed Martin, ecstatically. While Keith had forgotten his goggles today, he could tell his uncle was smiling, though the smile didn't last very long. "Congratulations. likely ye'll become a Sorcerer of Water, just like me."  
  
Keith gave him a 'thumbs up'.  
  
"But all the same. just watch yer back."  
  
Keith cocked his head in confusion and mouthed the word, why, a few rogue bubbles drifting out of his mouth.  
  
His uncle sighed, seeing his nephew's confusion. "The Hillsfars ain't popular around certain sorts. yer father n' I used to work hard keepin' America free of Dark Wizards. Our line is famous fer lockin' up bad wizards."  
  
Keith fought against the dull pressure that was building against his chest. His father rarely talked to him about his job, always changing the question whenever Keith asked. His uncle, however, seemed to have no problems talking.  
  
"I always suspected that rotten apple Blake Dexter. Was gittin' awfully close to that one, I was, before I wound up at the bottom of this lake."  
  
Keith wanted to stay down a bit longer and listen, but his need for oxygen was building again. His uncle groaned, apparently reading the discomfort on his face. "Go get yerself some air, pansy. I've been holdin' my breath fer the last seven years. ye can't even go much more than a minute."  
  
Keith scowled and crossed his arms, intentionally fighting his desire to swim away. He really wanted to say 'being dead was an unfair advantage', but it was difficult to speak underwater. He felt his chest heave twice, pleading with him to breathe. He bit down on his lower lip, however, and didn't start for the surface.  
  
Martin laughed, finding this show of stubbornness rather delightful. "Yer stubborn like yer old man and me. Ye'll drown just to prove me wrong, wontcha?"  
  
Keith grit his teeth and nodded, his eyes gleaming with determination. He wasn't going to leave until his uncle took that part back about him being a pansy.  
  
Unfortunately, stubbornness was a family trait for all Hillsfars. His uncle was hardly going to surrender without a fight. "I gotta be tellin' ya, Keith. playin' the waiting game with me down here isn't a wise bet."  
  
The pain grew intense and, against his will, a few bubbles shot out of his clenched lips. Nonetheless, he kept his arms crossed and his legs knotted together, making no move for the surface twenty feet above.  
  
"By Merlin. the damned kid is actually going to drown himself," snorted his uncle.  
  
Keith found his resolve quickly draining as bubbles began to spew from his mouth and his chest began to heave into his throat. As stubborn as he was, he wasn't stupid, and wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.  
  
"Alright, alright," grumbled his uncle with defeat. "Yer not a pansy. wouldn't want ye becomin' ma passenger for the next eternity - you'd never give me a moment of peace!"  
  
Though, Keith didn't hear the rest of that. The moment he heard the phrase 'yer not a pansy', he pushed off the muddy floor with as much force as he could muster and swam frantically for the surface. He broke through a few seconds later, gasping, coughing and hacking. Jethro had actually gotten off the hammock, and was in the process of taking off his cloak.  
  
"Merlin H. Magic!" exclaimed Jethro from the shoreline. "I had thought crazy old Martin had tried to drown ya! Ye were under there fer like two minutes!"  
  
Keith gasped and spluttered, coughing violently as he swam slowly for the shore. That was definitely the last time he'd be visiting Uncle Martin this summer! He staggered up the shore and rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. He squinted against the sun directly above his head.  
  
"Jethro..." panted Keith, rolling his head over, ". who - who is Dexter Blake?" He didn't know why that question was so important to him, but he had almost drowned for that name. He might as well find out all he could about it.  
  
Jethro shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "You been listenin' to Martin's stories again?"  
  
Keith nodded, sitting back up and coughing the rest of his discomfort away. "Yea. maybe that's who killed him, y'know?"  
  
"He has no idea and neither does pop," said Jethro stubbornly, throwing his brown cloak back over his wide frame. "The only things that tickle Martin nowadays are telling you stories and trying to drown you, it seems."  
  
Keith fixed him with a cold expression. "How would you know? Not like ye go down n' talk to him yerself."  
  
Jethro flopped back onto his hammock, "Well, duh. yer the one whose always swimming." He fell silent, as if that in some way resolved him.  
  
Finally, Keith rose and proceeded to dress himself again. He rolled down the sodden cuffs to his jeans and threw his shirt over his drenched body. Having nothing more to say to Jethro, he went back to the house, hoping lunch would be ready.  
  
And boy, did the hours pass slowly. Between his nagging mother, his crying sister Michelle, the Screaming steps every time he went up to check on her and his agonizing wait to get involved in the Wizarding World, he thought time was just about at a standstill. After lunch, his younger brother Dennis came home and approached the sofa where Keith was reading. He had actually managed to read the entire section on turning shoes into pigeons and he was eager to try it.  
  
Dennis, with his usual kind greeting, withdrew his wand. Keith only noticed him after he waved it. "Pookoo!"  
  
A slight zap of harmless yellow energy hit Keith in the earlob, a jolt of surprise shooting through his body. He gripped his lob and turned on his little brother. "Ya wanna get tossed in the creek?"  
  
His brother, younger by only two years, giggled. "Nerd! Yer readin', yer a nerd!" He jumped on the sofa next to him. "Nerd! Nerd!"  
  
Keith simply groaned and slid to the end of the sofa. His brother matched his movements, keeping the distance between them constant. "Nerd Nerd Nerd Ner."  
  
Keith closed his book and slammed him over the head.  
  
"MAA!" wailed Dennis, sobbing and running out of the room. "MAA!"  
  
Keith wanted to be anywhere but home right now.  
  
At long last, he heard boots crunching the rocky road leading up to their house. Keith leapt off the sofa, grabbed his Castagloria acceptance letter, and raced to the door. A moment later, it swung open. Francis Hillsfar was about to enter but stopped, eying his son with a fatigued expression. "Hello, Keith," he said stiffly, his hooked nose held high.  
  
"Pop, pop, I got my acceptance letter to Castagloria today. Can you take me to Gartherid's Boulevard? Please, Pop, please?"  
  
His father stared at Keith for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Can I at least get my foot through the damned door first?"  
  
Keith blushed red and backed off, looking down at his bare feet. He hadn't bothered to put on his sneakers after the swim, nor had he really bothered to change either. Come to think of it, his mother was probably going to kill him when she found out how wet the sofa was. He winced, really wishing he knew a Drying Charm.  
  
His father drew out the step, but finally dropped his black leather boot upon the wood floor.  
  
"So, please, Pop, please!" continued Keith, jumping up and down, waving his hands like a stranded passenger on a deserted island.  
  
With a groan, his father stuck his head back out the door, his long blonde ponytail swinging back as he turned. He always dressed darkly, with an indigo satin cloak and black undergarments. "No sense getting settled in. you won't be giving me a second to myself. JETHRO, get over here!"  
  
His larger brother came waddling up from the creek. If pigs could walk on two legs, they'd probably look a lot like Jethro. His face was porky pink from the effort. Mary had entered the room as well. She gave her husband a kiss. "Don't worry, dear. Dinner will be on the table when you get back. a nice, non-magically cooked one at that."  
  
Francis nodded, though Keith didn't miss that flash of discontentment. "Alright boys, we've got about two hours before everything closes. Let's hurry along."  
  
Dennis, who had forgotten to brood over Keith's vicious book slamming, rushed down the stairs, having heard it all. "Can I come too?"  
  
"No, Dennis."  
  
Dennis' jaw dropped with outrage while his freckled face dropped, looking like a human flycatcher. "But why do THEY get to go?" he whined, tears beginning to ring his eyes again.  
  
"Crybaby," muttered Keith, while Jethro chortled trollishly, running his finger from his eye down his face, pretending to cry.  
  
Dennis screamed with outrage and ran back upstairs, sobbing once again.  
  
"Keith, Jethro. that was uncalled for," rebuked his father firmly. He led them to the fireplace and withdrew a handful of ashes. With a careful touch, he sprinkled half into the hands of each of his boys. "You know how it works." He then stared pointedly at Jethro, "Speak clearly and whatever you do, don't say "Garfield's Boulevard" like last time. I had to go to Buffalo to track you down, and that wasn't fun."  
  
Jethro frowned with distraught, but Keith happily walked into the empty fireplace with practiced calm. He had waited for this day all summer!  
  
"Gartherid's Boulevard!" exclaimed Keith, dropping the ash down at his feet. With a rush of green flames, he felt himself falling into the fireplace, being pulled by his very nose by magic he didn't understand.  
  
He was gone a moment later. 


	2. Chapter 2: Buyer Beware

Chapter 2: Buyer Beware  
  
Keith stepped out of the fireplace, dusting off his brown cloak. The first thing he noticed was the air smelt like incense, sorta like the chapel his mother made him go to once in awhile on Sunday. He was in some kind of store, selling the weirdest things he'd ever seen. Some looked expensive, like that black polished skull on top of a nearby shelf. Other stuff, like a shelf filled with jars containing body parts seemed to be on sale, buy one get one free. Keith shuddered, wondering why his father had wanted them to end up here.  
  
Keith stepped aside just in time for Jethro's huge frame to squeeze out of the fireplace. Keith bit back a laugh when he compared the large boy to a rotisserie, as he was covered from head to toe with soot. If the location they were in right now was a surprise to him, Jethro's mask of indifference hid it well. Keith decided not to ask - no sense giving Jethro the satisfaction of knowing something Keith didn't.  
  
Finally their father stepped through, the dust fleeing from his cloak without so much as a movement on his part. Not even ash wanted to get on his bad side.  
  
"Come along now," called his father, as he led the two boys between shelves filled with odd and eerie objects. His leather glove was clenched over his cane. He tapped it against the ground every few steps. Keith couldn't help but notice the head of the cane was shaped like a cobra, with two long fangs. Gilded onto the shaft of the cane, in fancy gold script, was the word Slytherin.  
  
At the counter of this strange store, a toothless old witch with green skin and black clothing wheezed at Keith, making him take a step back.  
  
"Ah. Francis." she cackled, in a voice so high-pitched it could shatter glass. "Your son Keith?"  
  
Keith's father smirked, an expression mirroring the one he passed to his son. "This is Keith, Annis."  
  
The hag squinted hard at Keith, as if she couldn't see him. Keith instinctively took another step back. "I'm sure he's a beauty. wish my sister gave me the seeing eye so I could make him out more clearly. want a lollypop?"  
  
Keith shook his head very slowly. "No way."  
  
Francis glanced down irritably at his son. "Don't be rude, Keith," he scolded.  
  
"I mean, sure!" said Keith, smiling artificially. He resisted the urge to throw his elbow into Jethro's stomach as he snickered.  
  
The hag removed a rather impressive candy jar and allowed Keith and Jethro to take their pick. Keith chose a multicolored lollypop while Jethro chose a jawbreaker the size of Keith's fist, though it fit rather snuggly into half of his brother's oversized, flabby mouth.  
  
"What is on sale today, Annis?" asked his father, taking his eyes off his son.  
  
Annis wheezed, giving Mr. Hillsfar her fearsome, toothless smile. "Well, Youth Potions are very popular right now. on sale for one hundred Deluvians apiece, but those are of little use to an Auror like yourself."  
  
Mr. Hillsfar remained silent while the hag checked a lengthy parchment roll behind her desk.  
  
"Oooh, interesting." she hissed, though it was probably supposed to sound like a coo of appreciation. "Yes. interesting."  
  
"Have something for me?" asked Mr. Hillsfar innocently.  
  
"Yes," she crowed, as she hobbled away from the counter and into the back room, parting the beads that hung through the doorway as she went. Her loud, shrill voice was heard, speaking in a strange language to whoever was behind the beads.  
  
"She's a hag, ain't she?" asked Keith, who was hesitantly eying his lollypop but not licking it. Jethro's lower chin was already stained blue from his colored slobber.  
  
"Yes, Keith," replied Francis, as if Keith's question had been concerning the weather, "A covey of three runs this shop. Just call them all Annis. they don't have names."  
  
"Pop, I'm bored," grumbled Jethro, though it was hard to understand him with his cheek swollen to the size of a large softball.  
  
"I'll be done momentarily," answered his father irritably, as three witches emerged from the backroom. They looked identical, with sickly green skin. The only differences were where their moles and warts were on their faces. Keith gasped and resisted the urge to hide behind his father.  
  
The middle hag placed a chest onto the counter. The two in back passed around a glass eye; they each took turns looking through it, "oohing and aahing." Keith couldn't help but notice they were looking at him mostly. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and stared at the chest expectantly.  
  
With a tap of his snake cane, the box opened up for Mr. Hillsfar. From its wake, Keith's father pulled out a glove that looked as through it had been chewed through by a St. Bernard.  
  
"Indeed." commented his father as he turned the glove over a few times, "this is quite the relic. How did you come by it?"  
  
But Keith couldn't stop from laughing, pointing at it. "Pop. I could get two just like it at Walmart for you, brand new."  
  
"Eee hee hee," cackled the middle hag, taking the glass eye from her sister and peering through the lens at Keith. "Pretty little boy. got a whole lotta spirit. You must see, though."  
  
". not everything is as it seems," crowed another, taking the glass eye from her sister and leering at Keith imposingly.  
  
"Yes," nodded Keith's father, as he turned the glove over a few times. "I thought all the Contingency Gloves were destroyed after the Goblin Civil War of 1880."  
  
"That's what most believe," giggled the third hag, snatching the eye from her sister. To Keith, it was like they coordinated their viewings in five-second shifts. "Five hundred thousand Deluvians for most. but for you, Francis the Auror. only fifty."  
  
Francis withdrew a check from his pocket and summoned a quill into his hand. After filling it out, he handed it to the second hag. "An excellent price, thank you, Annis. You can expect to keep a legal franchise due to your. generosity."  
  
The hags began to fight over who got to see the insides of the bag first, but not before looking up. "May it serve you well."  
  
They left the shop moments later; Keith was positively content to leave the strange Dark Arts shop behind.  
  
"Pop," said Jethro, a big wad of slobber falling free from his half- opened mouth. "Whatcha get?"  
  
Keith started sucking on the lollypop. It was indeed quite tasty, every three seconds switching from raspberry to orange to grape and back again.  
  
"It's a Contingency Glove," answered his father aloofly. "Powerful artifact. it will make my job much easier."  
  
Keith's eyes wandered as his father took time to explain the workings of the artifact. Had he been anywhere else, he'd have loved to listen, as such stuff fascinated him. But, nothing could fascinate him like Gartherid's Boulevard. The Boulevard itself was nothing short of a zoo, filled with wizards wearing all colors hustling this way and that. The road itself was divided into two sides, separated by a plush median strip filled with blooming flowers that danced on their own accord, each swaying their own way and changing color every ten seconds. Overhead, the evening sky was raw red, the setting sun going out in a blaze of crimson fury.  
  
"Jethro, I trust you can handle yourself?" asked his father, with an arched, flaxen brow. Keith keenly noted the disgust on his face.  
  
Jethro, to Keith's surprise, shook his head. "I'd really like to stay with y'all, if it's all the same."  
  
Keith's keen senses picked up a laugh above the din of the passing crowd. He turned around slowly to see a group of six boys, all dressed in fiery, magenta robes. They must have been Jethro's age and were pointing at him and laughing. They were standing out in front of Jorna's Jumping Diner. One was so bold as to cry out:  
  
"Hey Piggy! Come on over here! Haven't seen your fat, chunky rear all summer!"  
  
Keith realized why Jethro didn't want to leave. But, brotherly loyalty didn't run very deep; Keith was already cackling as Jethro turned a shade of raw red.  
  
"I'm not going to protect you, Jethro," stated his father in what could only be considered a cold tone. "Stand up for yourself, boy."  
  
Jethro frowned, his voice beginning to sound squeamish. "Pop, please. don't leave me alone. those Order of Fire boys hate me."  
  
"Hey jelly rolls, we told you to roll your fat butt on over here! We're gonna take you out for a big sundae. how can you resist adding more pounds to that ass of yours?" called another.  
  
Keith, by now, was barely keeping his feet while the other boys cackled savagely and slapped each other five.  
  
"They don't hate you," answered his father, staring down at his large son. "They have no respect for you because you have no respect for yourself. Now, Keith and I have business to attend to, and he's never been here before. Handle yourself."  
  
"But, pop!" complained Jethro as Mr. Hillsfar took Keith by the arm and began to lead him away.  
  
"No buts." rebuked his father, not even turning back to see him.  
  
The sound of his brother's whimpers delighted Keith to his very core. After all, it was worth it, wasn't it? Jethro loved to finish his chores earlier and watch while Keith labored for hours doing a task Jethro himself could do in a few seconds with magic. But, he never helped. why would he? He was too lazy.  
  
They left a whimpering Jethro behind. "Keith," spoke out his father, his voice halting his second son in his path. "Don't become like Jethro."  
  
"Pop?" questioned Keith, looking up to his old man.  
  
"A disgrace to our family name," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "Us Hillsfars have a lengthy family tradition for perfection: pureblooded and apt at everything we do. Your blood is cleaner than Jethro's. I knew it since the day you were born."  
  
He had never heard his father talk like this. It was all right and good to slam Jethro, but what was he trying to say here?  
  
"But pop. mother is."  
  
". a Muggle, yes, I know," interrupted his father as they walked down the road. "One day when you are older, you will see that love is blind. I love your mother dearly, but take great sorrow in spoiling your pureblood in the process."  
  
Keith listened silently. His mind raced for something intelligent to say. Nothing came up, however.  
  
"You are my greatest hope, Keith," said his father plainly, as they stopped. They were standing in front of a store worn from age. It read: "Pristine Books for the Bookish, since 1595." The building looked ancient, built of rotting wood and held up by some power other than architecture. "Do not speak of it to Jethro, for I still love him and wish not to see him crushed - but at the rate he's going, he won't amount to anything and I have neither the time nor the patience to hold his hand."  
  
Keith swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt small and completely overwhelmed despite the compliment (if you could even call it that) his father had bestowed upon him. No, as much as Keith liked to see his brother miserable, this was one conversation he'd never tap to get the upper hand on Jethro. For one, he didn't need it, and for two it was too savage, even for him.  
  
His father wore a pained expression upon his pale face; his gray eyes were filled with lament, a cold anger that had been burning for thirteen years. It scared Keith, for he knew the mettle of his father's resolve. He withdrew the glove he had just purchased and held it down to Keith. Keith went over it, his own hazel eyes wide with astonishment.  
  
"Pop, ya don't mean."  
  
"I bought it for you, Keith," he said shortly. He had to bend at his waist to look Keith in the eyes, but he did it anyway. "The hags spent the better part of nine months searching for it and have tailored it specifically to you."  
  
Keith stared at the ratty old glove with surprise. "How?"  
  
"I cannot say - wear it now."  
  
Not questioning his father, Keith took hold of the glove. At once a remarkable change came over it. It turned from a ratty piece of refuge into a well-repaired glove the color of night. He slipped it over his left hand and it fit tightly. It prickled a little bit, as if something inside were attaching itself to his skin like Velcro. Keith panicked a small bit and tried to pull the glove back off. It didn't budge.  
  
"It has bound itself to your hand until you no longer need it," said Mr. Hillsfar calmly. "Come now." He put his arm around Keith and led him into the bookstore.  
  
After purchasing his books, an event that didn't take all too long (they practically waved his father through the line and served him in seconds) they were again on the road. Keith had overcome the awkwardness of before, well, maybe not overcome, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, knowing his father would explain when he was ready.  
  
"Lemme see." he unfolded his ingredients list. "I need. um. a cauldron, potions supplies. I already got a wand."  
  
". no you don't," filled in his father. "You have a stick that is just about as magical as a Muggle washing machine."  
  
"Really?" questioned Keith, looking a bit daunted.  
  
"You will find that magic won't be so difficult once you have a decent wand," continued his father. They stopped in front of another store. Judging by the look of it, it had been erected very recently, with polished marble columns supporting the two-story exterior. A brand new sign flickered with magical illumination. Roxie's Magical Wands 2000.  
  
"Such a hovel," sighed his father, tapping his cane on the ground twice. He always did that whenever he was trying to make a point. "We are loosing our traditional roots." He glanced down to Keith. "Newer is not always better, Keith. The best wands are made in England by Wizarding Families who have over two-thousand years of experience in the business." Francis cackled once, bitterly and mirthlessly. "The best Quidditch brooms were made back a thousand years ago. They make the Firebolt X2 look like the Nimbus 100."  
  
Keith was again a bit baffled by all of the magical talk, but he got the basic gist of what was being said: judge a book by its cover if it wasn't made hundreds of years ago. It was sound advice, he supposed.  
  
He had been to England only once before. Seven years ago, one of his cousins had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Keith was only four at the time and only remembered one thing about the trip. Keith had thought his father's three-story colonial was big, but the manor he had visited was nearly fifty times bigger. The memory he had of the place was getting lost within. It seemed everywhere he turned, he was in the same, green corridor all over again. After what seemed like days, he had slumped against the wall, crying. Moments later, his cousin had found him and, after making a few snappish comments he didn't understand at that time, ("Stupid Mudblood" was said a few times) guided him back to the family. It wasn't what he said that had made Keith so afraid of him, it was how he said it. He couldn't have been older than seventeen or eighteen, but the power and hatred his cousin had put on his voice had served as food for his nightmares, even to this day.  
  
He didn't ever want to go back to that place; he never wanted to see his cousin again.  
  
A bell sounded as Mr. Hillsfar led the way into the wand shop. It was all but empty, and a scraggly looking man as old as his father with long, greasy hair and a five o'clock shadow greeted them. It looked as though he shaved with a vibrating razor, as splotchy hair grew in random patches all along his face.  
  
"Welcome to Roxie's, betcha lookin' fer a wand fer yer little son!" exclaimed the man, skipping over. He was about as tall as Keith and looked him straight in the eyes. He pinched each of his cheeks with his dirty fingers, causing Keith to grunt and take a disgusted step back. "Aw, he's a cutey. high spirited, I gather. Got just the thing for him."  
  
Mr. Hillsfar glowered at the man. "If you ever touch my son again, I will skin you alive and hang you from the cheap chandelier above my head."  
  
"Very high-spirited," clucked the man as he ran down an isle, fumbling through shoeboxes. If he was intimidated at all by his father's threat, he sure didn't show it. "Runs in the family, I see."  
  
The man returned a few minutes later with five different types of wands. To Keith's surprise, they were hardly the wooden wands he thought they would be. In fact, they looked a lot like crystals, ranging from as small as seven inches to over a foot long.  
  
"You don't honestly expect my son to use a crystal wand?" snorted Francis contemptuously, as if the man had suggested hanging a skunk around Keith's neck and sending him to a party. "Put that rubbish back and bring out your wooden stock."  
  
"Wooden wands be a thing of the past, good sir," exclaimed the man, "'course, we'll paint over the crystal to give it a more traditional look, if you so choose."  
  
Keith took hold of a wand from the dirty man's hands. It was a ruby gem shaft a foot long. It shimmered, bending rays of pinkish color all over the store.  
  
"There's a good boy, give it a flick!"  
  
Keith waved the wand. He gasped as a jet of fire shot out from the tip, striking the wand merchant full in the face. Keith gasped, dropping the wand from his hand in shock. The man yelped and staggered back, his face colored indigo. On the plus side, however, his five o'clock shadow had been removed completely, saving him from shaving.  
  
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean ta." exclaimed Keith, moving over to the man. The man, however, was laughing.  
  
"Woo wee! Yer a pistol, son. hit ya right on the first try. I'm getting good at this!"  
  
Even Mr. Hillsfar had nothing negative to say. "Indeed -- seems the wand has chosen you."  
  
Keith bent over and picked up the wand, turning it over again. The crystalline ruby was about a foot long and barely an inch wide. It was elegant and, he had to admit, looked more impressive than Jethro's.  
  
"Very well," sighed his father with defeat. "I'll take the rubbish. but paint it over brown. I don't wish my son to be seen with such a -- thing."  
  
"S'ok, Pop," said Keith, turning the wand over a few times. "I think it's pretty neat!"  
  
Again, his father sighed with defeat. "Newer doesn't mean better." he grumbled.  
  
Keith nodded, taking his father's lesson to heart. Without so much as a mumble of protest, he handed over his wand to the excited man. The man waved his own wand, and within a minute, the crystalline wand sported a polished wooden finishing. "Even feels like wood, too - should resemble good old fashion Yew on close inspection."  
  
Keith took back the wand and gave it a final look over. The red crystal was now dark brown, resembling his wand back home in all respects.  
  
"It'll do," muttered his father. He paid the man and led Keith out of the store. Keith swished the wand a few times, like he was testing the balance of a sword. "What's next on your list?"  
  
Keith secured his new wand to his belt and unraveled the wrinkled parchment from a fold in his brown cloak. "Um. school robes n'. um. a pet. and potions ingredients and cauldron."  
  
Francis nodded. "Very well, Keith. Why don't you go get measured for your robes? I'll finish the rest of your shopping."  
  
"Right, pop," agreed Keith, "just. not a snake."  
  
"I think I have the perfect thing in mind," said his father. He walked away, leaving Keith in the middle of the road.  
  
Keith shrugged and, having no better ideas, continued walking up the street. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer size and commotion of the boulevard. However, he remembered his father's words about Jethro and kept his chin high.  
  
After browsing the stores, walking straight for about five blocks, he was hopelessly confused. Somehow, he had walked in a circle and was now back in front of the wand store again. He sighed dejectedly and crossed his arms. Having no better ideas, he approached a middle-aged witch. Her hair was hidden beneath the folds of a very large hat, giving her an extra two feet of height. She was leading three identical triplets that appeared to be Keith's age, each with mousy gray hair and bright expressions of their faces.  
  
" 'cuse me, ma'am," said Keith with a hesitant tone. The witch turned him kindly and gave him a warming smile.  
  
"Yes, dear?"  
  
Keith rubbed the back of his head coyly, embarrassed that he had to bother her. "I can't find the robe store. can ya help me?"  
  
The woman nodded with understanding. "First time on the boulevard, love?"  
  
Keith nodded twice, and couldn't help but notice her triplets were chuckling amongst themselves. He felt like he was shrinking with every passing second. "Yes ma'am."  
  
"Oh, poor dear," she said with a weary tone. "Where's your family?"  
  
"Pop's gittin' my pet," replied Keith, glancing nervously toward the brothers who were now laughing outright, pointing at him. He dug his heels into the ground and stopped himself from walking away. "I reckon I just missed it."  
  
The older witch tutted a few times, as if scolding someone who wasn't there. "Going around in circles then?"  
  
"Yes ma'am," said Keith. "I don't get how. been walkin' straight this whole time."  
  
"It's a charm, dear," answered the witch, cheerily, as if anyone could have made that mistake. "If you are under twelve and lost, the old road will return you to where you started. that way, you're easy for your folks to find."  
  
Keith felt a wave of relief wash over his body. It was nice to know that he wasn't stupid.  
  
"Come along with my boys, Michael, Kale and Morgan," invited the witch with a cordial wave. "I was just on my way to get them their robes too. Startin' in Castagloria as a 6th grader, aren't ya?"  
  
Keith continued to nod, not having anything remarkably creative to say. He didn't like the idea of shopping with those three boys, who were laughing themselves hoarse at the sight of him. They made him feel like an object of ridicule. Nonetheless, Keith walked next to one of them. whether it was Kale, Morgan or Michael, he couldn't tell.  
  
"Hey!" exclaimed the boy maybe Morgan. "Can you. say something?"  
  
Keith cocked his head with confusion. He looked at him with doubting, olive-green eyes. "Somethin'," he replied, not understanding. Again, the boys broke out laughing, as if he had said the funniest joke. "What's so funny?" questioned Keith, his ears blazing over scarlet.  
  
The boy in the middle, maybe Kale, looked over at Keith. "Why do you talk so weird?"  
  
Keith blinked with confusion, considering the boy's strange, lighter accent. "Yer the one talkin' funny."  
  
"Nuh-uh," answered the boy furthest from him, maybe Michael. Nonetheless, the joke seemed to have run its course. No longer were the boys laughing at him. "What's your name?"  
  
"Keith," he answered.  
  
"I'm Morgan Grogan," maybe Michael said, proving Keith's guess wrong.  
  
"I'm Kale Grogan," maybe Kale answered, making him one for two.  
  
"I'm Michael Grogan," maybe Morgan said, tipping the scale toward being wrong.  
  
Keith smiled; now it was his turn to laugh. He remembered the identical hags he had just visited with his father and how they all went by the same name. "Does it matter what yer names are? Can I just call all y'all Kale?"  
  
Kale beamed with pride while the other two made a face.  
  
"I mean really, how do y'all tell each other apart?" asked Keith, trying to hold back a second laugh.  
  
"We just know."  
  
"We just know."  
  
"We just know."  
  
That simultaneous explanation would have to do, for they had stopped in front of a shop. A quick look around really confused Keith. Now, the setting sun was on the opposite side of the road. Somehow, they had crossed over the flower-covered median strip without even realizing it. Keith shook his head, unable to understand, but didn't question it.  
  
"Well, here we are," said Mrs. Grogan. She then shot prying looks back at her boys. "Now, who drew the short straw?"  
  
Kale grumbled and dug his toe into the ground while his brothers on each side pointed to him.  
  
"Don't worry, Michael," said Mrs. Grogan, "I'll get you your favorite ice cream when you get out." She looked back to Keith. "Would you like an ice cream cone, too, after you get your robe?"  
  
"It's Kale."  
  
"Sorry, sweetie," she apologized.  
  
Keith never liked to impose, but was hardly going to turn down ice cream when it was offered freely. "Sure!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Cookies n' Cream would be great."  
  
She grinned ear to ear, as if getting Keith his favorite ice cream would make her week. "Kale, you and Keith go get your school robes, then. Don't forget to have them make two more for your brothers."  
  
"Yeah, I got it," snapped Kale moodily.  
  
With that, Michael, Morgan and Mrs. Grogan left the two boys standing in the road.  
  
Keith glanced up at the store, for the first time reading the subtle, somewhat faded sign. "Madam Maulkin's English Robes." Well, at least his father would definitely approve of this place, he thought. In the windows, he saw robes floating about a large display case, dancing with each other and strutting their stuff, price tags floating behind them.  
  
"This takes forever," groaned Kale, turning to Keith. "Lauren had to do this for her three sisters."  
  
Keith scratched his dirty blonde hair awkwardly. "Why don't y'all get yer own robes?"  
  
"Well, Lauren and her sisters are all the same size, and all my brothers are the same size as me," explained Kale, as they entered the store.  
  
A parrot, which was perched above the door called out after they entered. "Arrrrck, two little munchkins need clothing, Arrrck!"  
  
Keith flinched with irritation, but Kale didn't even bat an eye. A moment later, Keith resumed their conversation. "Wait, yer sisters are all the same size too? How many sisters ya got?"  
  
"Four," the mousy haired boy replied offhandedly. "They're quadruplets. They're goin' into tenth grade."  
  
"Merlin H. Magic!" exclaimed Keith, as they passed a few robes and cloaks that beckoned to them, as if pleading to be bought. "How do y'all keep track of each other?"  
  
Kale chuckled, a bright smile crossing his face. "Well, they got lucky. they were each sorted into different orders. easy to tell 'em apart in their school robes. They are all different colors."  
  
"Orders?" asked Keith, his curiosity being perked.  
  
Kale didn't have a chance to answer them before an elevated woman, nearly seven feet tall, approached them. She craned her overly long neck, like a snake of some kind, peering at each of the boys without moving her eyes. Behind her, two girls were standing on different stools and were being worked by an animated spool of thread and about four different needles. They pointed and giggled at Keith and Kale. One was being tailored brown and gold robes, while another deep, ocean blue with teal lacing.  
  
"Good evening boys," she said kindly, in a British accent "School robes?"  
  
Kale and Keith both nodded. "Yeah," answered Kale, with a bored tone, "I'll need three."  
  
The woman bent her neck the other way, surveying both sides of Kale without so much as moving her body. "Ah, a Grogan?"  
  
"Uh-huh," answered Kale coyly.  
  
"Amazing you can tell each other apart," chuckled the lanky witch. "Still remember your mother and her four aunts. They had all insisted on getting their own measurements; you see, they were convinced their other sisters were fatter." Her eyes became glassy for a moment, while Kale chuckled. "Ah, memories." The look of nostalgia faded just as quickly. "So, you dears have Orders yet?"  
  
Kale shook his head, while Keith shrugged with confusion. "No, miss. we've not yet been sorted," answered Kale.  
  
"Righty then," she said happily. "Stand on one of those." She nodded to three stools over in the corner. "I'll be with you shortly."  
  
Kale and Keith complied, each picking one of the three stools. Kale glanced to Keith as he stood up, "You a Muggleborn?"  
  
Keith shook his head, glancing down at the back of his hands, as if looking for something on his fingernails. "Half and half, though I don't know much about Castagloria. Pop went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England."  
  
"I see," remarked Kale, "well, you get sorted into Orders based on what you're like. its all named after the elements: Earth, Fire, Air and Water."  
  
"My brother is -- Air," said Keith, now understanding. "Always wondered what that meant."  
  
A tape measure shot over to Kale and began to measure every angle and every curve of his body. The lanky witch seemed to be speaking with another customer.  
  
"You never asked your brother what it meant?" questioned Kale, seeming most perplexed.  
  
Keith considered that for a moment. He honestly couldn't remember ever asking his brother what The Order of Air meant, or what Castagloria was like. In truth, he didn't talk to his brother about anything outside of how lazy he was, and an occasional insult. Yep, that was just about all he ever wanted to talk to Piggy boy about. Lazy moron.  
  
"Nope, never," said Keith.  
  
"Well, Air's pretty much the Order that you get put in if you have no real talent at anything. they're mostly pretty slow and stupid. That sorta thing."  
  
Keith cackled at that, the left half of his mouth raised in a triumphant smirk. "Fits Jethro like a lasso."  
  
"I'm goin' for Earth," professed Kale with pride, "they are really cool. brave, unyielding. strong. Lauren is in Earth."  
  
Keith considered his Uncle Martin's words, about how he'd be fit for the Order of Water. It made sense, he supposed. He loved swimming more than anything.  
  
"I'm probably going to be Water," considered Keith, though he lost his train of thought for a few seconds. The tape measure flew on over to him and began to take all of his measurements. fingers, nose length, ear diameter -- "Um. oh yeah, my uncle was in Water. guess he went to Castagloria too. I love swimming and such."  
  
"Cool," replied Keith with a respectful nod. "Water's ok too. water's just all about change, I think. Kathleen is in Water, she's got like multiple personalities. she's weird."  
  
The new customer that the lanky seamstress had been talking came over and stood on the third stool, a few feet from Keith and Kale. There was no question that this boy was Muggleborn. He wore a soft leather jacket and had enough moose in his hair to deflect bullets. Sunglasses covered his eyes and he was bobbing his head to the beat of music, which Keith could hear from the boy's headphones. It was some form of rap, with a loud, simple beat. Keith flinched; he hated rap.  
  
Kale groaned. "That's a Fire waiting to happen." He didn't bother to keep his voice down, for he knew that music boy wouldn't overhear him. "They are hot-headed and hate everyone. They suck."  
  
Keith remembered his father telling him about his house at Hogwarts, and how everyone not sorted into it hated it. He couldn't remember the name off the top of his head, but everyone had built up a prejudice against it, for one reason or another.  
  
Keith waved at the boy, trying to get his attention. The boy nearly fell off his stool with surprise, once he noticed Keith waving him down. Kale, however, groaned. "Ugh," he muttered, "he was perfectly content to ignore us."  
  
With trembling hands, the boy removed his headphones. "Um. hey, sorry if you were trying to get my attention before. I like to listen to music really loud. hey, my name is David, what's yours?" He spoke in a high- pitched voice, his words coming out of his mouth a mile a minute. His accent definitely placed him as a New York resident.  
  
Keith blinked with confusion. "Um. Keith, howdy. Uh. "  
  
Kale, meanwhile, scoffed with disbelief. "Whoa, you actually don't have an attitude problem?"  
  
"Pardon?" asked the dark-haired boy, removing his sunglasses and revealing very bright blue eyes.  
  
Kale snorted as the long-necked witch came over to work on him. "Well, anyone dressed like you is obviously trying to say that they are the coolest person in the world."  
  
The boy named David looked hurt, swallowing a nervous lump. "What. what do you mean?" he stammered.  
  
"Aren't you hot in that?" asked Kale, staring at David's baggy jeans that could fit someone three times as wide, and his leather jacket. Indeed, the boy was sweating something awful. Keith remained silent, his mind still not made up about the boy.  
  
"Well yeah, but this is how I dress," he answered coyly. "My brother wears this stuff all the time."  
  
Kale looked over while the seamstress worked on his robe, the needles starting at his feet and stitching their way up. "You have got to be kidding me. an actual wizard dresses like that?"  
  
David bit his lip coyly. "No. he's not a wizard."  
  
"Oh geez," snorted Kale, shaking his head. "A pure one-hundred present Muggleborn. You got a gun to go with that outfit," Kale leered at David derisively and added: "Gangsta?"  
  
Keith, however, wasn't so quick to judge. He decided to hold back any comments supporting Kale.  
  
"No." murmured David weakly, his frown turning into a pout. "I don't like guns."  
  
"Yeah right, I hear all Muggles carry them and shoot each other to prove whose cooler," scoffed Kale with contempt. "Especially in New York."  
  
"I'm live in New Jersey," replied David softly.  
  
Keith wasn't about to correct Kale; he had to agree, David looked like such a flake. However, if it was a choice between leather Jacket David or fat, lazy Jethro, it was clear whose image won out.  
  
"Are your parents here?" asked Keith, trying to turn the conversation away from insults.  
  
David shook his head. "No. my aunt and my brother are outside waiting."  
  
"Why your aunt?" asked Kale. Madam Malkeen, or whoever she was, moved on over to Keith and began to work on him. "She a witch?"  
  
"No." he replied, at length.  
  
Keith was beginning to catch on, suspecting that there was a dark reason why his parents weren't here. However, Kale just didn't seem to get it. "What, did you use up all their grease on your hair and force them to go out and buy you more?"  
  
Keith glanced distastefully at Kale, though the triplet didn't seem to look very scornful. He didn't have that malicious glint that he had seen in his cousin's eyes, seven years ago. Instead, it was some other emotion. fear maybe? Keith wondered why he was afraid of this other boy.  
  
David lost any semblance of control he had left and stuck up his middle finger at Kale. "My parents are dead!"  
  
Every head in the store looked at David. Kale, at once, lost his fear and his arrogant expression, frowning deeply. Keith sighed. He had had a feeling that was what it was about and he had wished he had said something to Kale beforehand.  
  
"Sorry," said Kale, flushing red with humiliation and modesty. ". I didn't know."  
  
David's expression also went mild as he lowered his hand. "It's ok."  
  
Keith sighed as an eerie silence fell over the store. The seven-foot tall witch, having heard the whole 'Muggleborn/Pureblood' debate many times had, by now, grown cold to it. She continued working as if nothing had happened. "Keep still there, lads," she coaxed, as she moved over to David and began work. "It'll take a half-hour or so."  
  
David and Kale started over, to Keith's relief. Kale was a pureblood, one of ten children. His three other siblings were younger, and no surprise, were also triplets, though they were fraternal and not identical (and Keith had thought his own family was big). He lived in Connecticut, in what Keith could only picture as five or six birdhouses, linked by rope bridges. Man, did pureblooded families find weird places to live.  
  
Keith already could tell he liked David. He was more modest than Kale and seemed to have a much more interesting past, if not a bit tragic. His parents had died in a car accident when he was nine, and he had moved to New Jersey to live with his twenty-one year old aunt. They must have been poor as poor could be, yet David still managed really nice clothing, if not a bit standoffish of a style. Yet, David didn't seem to show it; he was actually one of the mildest people Keith had ever met. This whole magic thing was still very new to David, and even Keith's talk about his farm and his Uncle Martin had him positively transfixed.  
  
Kale, however, wasn't too impressed. "Yeah, my great-grandfather and great-grandmother's ghosts haunt our attic," explained Kale, "my great- grandfather always begs me to have mom hire an exorcist."  
  
"So he can finally move on?" questioned David, fascinated with the whole idea of ghosts.  
  
Kale shook his head, chuckling giddily. "No, so my great-grandmother can. she's been driving him crazy for two-hundred years."  
  
By the time their black, unadorned school robes were done, it seemed like he, Kale and David had been friends for so much longer than just thirty minutes. They left the store, their robes in a bag. Kale's bag was about three times bigger than David's and Keith's.  
  
Mr. Hillsfar was waiting for Keith by the door. He was conversing plainly with Mrs. Grogan, and constantly shooting glares at a surprisingly young woman, dressed in a very skimpy black skirt and a top that revealed a lot of skin. Michael and Morgan were staring with rapt attention at her, nudging each other. By her side, a boy that didn't look all that younger than her was waiting for David. He looked similar to him, with slick black hair, though he had a dry, emotionless face, a glaring contrast to David's bright expression.  
  
"Pop," exclaimed Keith exuberantly, "this is Kale, and this is David. they are going into sixth grade too."  
  
Mr. Hillsfar nodded politely to Kale, but when his eyes fell on David and ran up and down his attire, his jaw dropped. All he had to do was look at David's jacket, his hair, and his headphones. "Merlin H. Magic. they actually let you into this place? Mudblood isn't even the proper word for you. Mudbody is more like it."  
  
"POP!" exclaimed Keith, his eyes widening with total shock while David took a step back, his eyes watering at the comment.  
  
"Excuse me?" demanded David's aunt, moving quickly over to Mr. Hillsfar, staring at him with unbridled rage. She pushed David behind her protectively. "Oh, no you didn't speak to my nephew like that, Blondy! Want me to whoop your ass?"  
  
Keith bit his lip helplessly, as his father raised his snake headed cane. "I'll speak however I want to your kind, you insolent little brat!"  
  
Mrs. Gorgan was quick to grab Keith and Kale and pull them back, muttering something about pureblooded stupidity. Keith hardly fought; he was too busy staring at his father with disbelief.  
  
He saw it happen in slow motion, as if it was happening on a television set. David's brother shoved Mr. Hillsfar hard on the shoulder, pushing him back and yelling obscenities at him. With unbridled fury, his father's wand shot from his sleeve and into the palm of his ready hand, faster than the eye could blink. Before Keith knew it, the area exploded in green light as a stream of curses shot forth from his father's mouth.  
  
When he was done, both David's aunt and his brother were on the ground, nearly unconscious, having been the victim of at least five curses apiece. Their skin had sprouted vines, their hair had fallen completely out, crickets were leaping out of their clothing, and a purple cord bound each of their legs together. Keith gasped again, his eyes drawn to the expression of cold fury on his father's face. He had seen that look once before; it was the same look of contempt his cousin had held him with, seven years before.  
  
"Rendemaden!" hissed Keith's father, as crimson energy shot forth from the tip of his wand, blanketing David's family with blazing heat, scorching them and making them cry out with agony. It ended a few seconds later; they both blacked out from the pain.  
  
Keith wondered when someone was going to do something. anything. No one was running to get help. Everyone who had been walking down the street had just stopped and was staring, no one moving to stop this. Some were looking contemptuous and disgusted, while others were laughing, and cheering Mr. Hillsfar on.  
  
"That ought to teach you. filthy Muggles." he said, running his hand slyly through his blonde hair.  
  
"Auntie Kimmie! Brian!" cried David. He had backed off, shivering with terror, his wide blue eyes filled with fear.  
  
Mr. Hillsfar turned on David, his cruel expression filled with unsated hostility. He leveled his wand at the terrified boy, who urinated the front of his pants. "Let this be a lesson to you, Mudblood. never speak to my son again!"  
  
Keith had had enough. He pulled free of Mrs. Grogan and rushed between his father and David. He put himself in the path of his father's wand. "POP! What's wrong with you!"  
  
His father stared at his boy, his expression softening only by the most unperceivable amount. Yet his voice remained as chill as ice. "Step aside, Keith."  
  
Keith balled his fists at his side, not that he was going to hit his father, but because it was something he could do to fidget with terror, but still look imposing. "Mom's a Muggle!" shouted Keith, truly at a loss of what to say.  
  
Now, no one was laughing and cheering. An amazing hush had fallen over the gathered wizards; some were whispering to each other, others were staring with wide-eyed expressions, as if to ask how a wizard could be so hypocritical. In the crowd, Keith spotted Jethro, who must have been attracted by the commotion. Keith noticed he was sporting a black eye and the front of his shirt was ripped.  
  
Mr. Hillsfar flipped his wand back under his sleeve with no small amount of practice. His cold fury seemed to check itself with the sobering realization of Keith's words. "Jethro. Keith. we are going." he said, firmly but not angrily.  
  
All Keith could do was look apologetically to David, who had gone white with horror and slumped to his knees. He glanced back to Mrs. Grogan, Kale and his brothers. they too, were ashen with disbelief.  
  
Not a single person opposed Mr. Hillsfar as he pushed through the crowd. Jethro fell into step behind him, but Keith loitered. He couldn't help it. he had too.  
  
He rushed over to David's side, offering him his hand. "I'm so sorry." was all he could say. "I'm so. so. sorry." David, however, stared at Keith's hand like it was the incarnation of the devil.  
  
"Go away." David mumbled, slapping Keith's hand away. "Just go away."  
  
"KEITH!" called his father impatiently.  
  
Keith frowned, his lip trembling. He turned away, leaving David humiliated and his family hexed to unconsciousness as he ran after his father. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere and cry. 


	3. Chapter 3: Prejudice

Chapter 3: Prejudice  
  
The next few days, the last nights of August, passed him by in a blur. That was, of course, with exception to dinners. Eating dinner with his pureblood father and his "filthy Muggle" mother was the longest and most awkward affair. The silence between Jethro, Keith and their father was palpable and almost as filling as the hardy meal before them.  
  
His father was a machine, his eyes never leaving his plate. He was always the first one done and always excusing himself before Keith and Jethro finished. It made Keith nervous in a way he couldn't understand, a prickling sensation in his chest, the same feeling he got when he knew he did something wrong.  
  
But what had he done wrong?  
  
While Keith worked, herding the cows, riding the horses or degnoming the carrot patches, that question turned over in his stomach like a slice of bad meat. He hadn't supported his father in striking those Muggles; that much was given. He had shamed his father in public by speaking out; he had made a mockery of the Hillsfar name - all for a filthy Mudblood.  
  
Keith booted a gnome so hard that its spinning brown form was well out of sight before it hit ground. He was a Mudblood! How could his father be so hypocritical! Jethro, Dennis and him - they were all filthy Mudbloods! Yet, his father loved them and didn't curse them for it. He just didn't understand; it wasn't fair.  
  
He was tempted to go talk to Uncle Martin about it, but what good would that do? It wasn't like he could explain his problem to him. Their communication was rather limited to how well Keith could signal and how simple his Uncle's questions were.  
  
Besides, he was still angry with the ghost for calling him a pansy.  
  
Then, an idea popped into his head. What if he got a parchment, wrote down his thoughts, had his brother use a Waterproofing Charm, then he could give it to Uncle Martin! Keith hesitated, forgetting about the gnome in his hand. Sensing the lack of concentration, the gnome took the opportunity to sink its teeth into Keith's finger. Despite the Contingency Glove he wore on his hand, it really hurt!  
  
And boy, did that gnome fly far.  
  
Keith raced out of the carrot patch and barged through the front door of his house. Ignoring his mother's request to stop running, he entered his father's private study and leapt into the chair behind the desk. Grabbing a sheet of parchment and a quill, he began to write quickly, with a trembling hand. If he couldn't talk to his father about this, his uncle would have the answers!  
  
Finishing the letter, he rolled it up quickly and rushed back out of the house, his mother's demands again falling on deaf ears. The easiest part of this task was finding Jethro, who was sprawled out, as usual, on the hammock. Today, he was reading Magus the Magnificent #14. He was an Auror who entered a gathering of Dark Wizards in every single comic and killed them all.  
  
"Jethro!" panted Keith as he slumped against one of the two maple trees that supported the hammock. "Can ya waterproof this? I wanna give it ta Uncle Martin."  
  
"Huh?" Jethro lowered his comic - Magus gave Keith a rather scornful look and pointed his wand at him.  
  
"The Waterproofing Charm, ya know that, right?" questioned Keith, regaining his breath. He handed the letter to Jethro.  
  
Jethro unrolled the parchment and began to read. Once he finished, Jethro looked up, an impish smile upon his fat face. "If pop ever found out ya wrote this."  
  
"He won't!" exclaimed Keith angrily, "I wanna know what's going on with him."  
  
Jethro snickered, rocking the hammock back and forth. He held the parchment close to him, protectively. "He'd find out. if I gave it ta him."  
  
Keith blanched, his eyes widening with fear. "Ya wouldn't."  
  
Jethro guffawed stupidly, his undershirt rippling against his restrained blubber. "Whatcha gonna gimmie to keep my mouth shut?"  
  
The first thing Keith wanted to say was 'a jelly doughnut', but as much as he despised his brother, he knew he was at a loss here. Insults would have to wait. "Whaddya want," grumbled Keith, looking defeated.  
  
"Lemme think." Jethro's eyes then widened with realization. "Yer copy of Ultimate Annihilator #21!"  
  
Keith barely resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Having followed in his brother's footsteps for a shamefully long time (about a week or two when he was nine) he had bought a few comic books, one of which Jethro had never been able to find again. The comic book was currently being used to line his underwear drawer, and hadn't been touched in years.  
  
Keith's mind worked fast, fast enough to keep himself ahead of dim- witted Jethro anyway. "No. please. ask me fer anything but that!"  
  
His older brother took the bait. "Nope. that comic, or I'm goin' to give this letter to pop."  
  
Keith forced a frown. He scratched the back of his head, giving the illusion that he was thinking about it coyly. He dug his foot bashfully into the ground. "But. it's so valuable to me. I couldn't."  
  
"Hope ye like the barn. cause once pop reads this letter, that's where yer gonna be fer the rest of yer life!" taunted Jethro, chortling like a pig.  
  
Keith sighed with mock resignation. "Fine. I'll give ya the comic. But under one condition."  
  
Jethro smirked, a confident look plastering his chunky countenance. "Yer not in a place to negotiate, little boy."  
  
Keith really wasn't going to do this to him, but Jethro had this coming. He suddenly smirked maliciously. "Ye give me half yer porno, or I'm gonna race back to the house, beat ya by a mile, grab it from under yer bed and give it to Ma!"  
  
Jethro's jaw dropped with disbelief. "I. I ain't got any porno!"  
  
"Yea right," snickered Keith, "yer so damn lazy ye don't even hide it well! It's under yer damn bed, right next ta yer cigarette tray."  
  
Jethro's face turned as white as a ghost. "Ye. ye been snoopin 'round my room!"  
  
Keith smirked innocently and shrugged. "It ain't hard. I can hear ye comin' a mile away. I just listen for the sound of an earthquake, and I know ye moved."  
  
And, so, it was settled. About a half-hour later, Keith was now the proud owner of about twenty-one gratuitous magazines featuring all the topless witches he'd ever want to see and a waterproofed letter that would hopefully get him some answers from Uncle Martin. After shoving the magazines in a very secret spot that not even Jethro would be able to find, (he would, no doubt, attempt to look) he rushed back down to the creek. Jethro was upset at Keith's deception, but it didn't last long. Once back on the hammock, it seemed the deal worked out for him as much as Keith. He began reading his new comic with interest, all memory of the resent swindle forgotten.  
  
After tossing aside his clothing and rolling up his pants again, Keith dove down to Uncle Martin's truck. Why he was always in that truck was a mystery, but it was most convenient, seeing as how Keith didn't really have all that much time to look for him. Today, he was not sleeping. A haunted singing voice filled Keith's waterlogged ears.  
  
"Ninety nine million, four hundred and sixty-five thousand, eight hundred and ninety four bottles of spicegin on the wall."  
  
As far as Keith could see, his uncle was tapping the wheel of the car in rhythm to his already offbeat song and was completely oblivious to his nephew, floating outside of his truck. If Keith could do so without drowning himself, he'd be laughing.  
  
He knocked on the window loudly, getting his uncle's attention. The ghost stopped in mid-lyric and turned to Keith. "Whoa, back so soon, eh? Am I really that good o' a conversationalist?"  
  
Keith handed the parchment to his uncle. The ghost hummed with consideration, grasped it in his hands and began to read it aloud.  
  
"Uncle Martin, yesterday, at Gartherid's Boulevard, pop cursed two Muggles because they stood up to him. He hurt them real bad. He scared away David, a kid I had just met, because he was a Muggleborn. Why is dad acting like that? Does he really hate all Muggleborns and 'Mudbloods?' If so, does he hate me and ma?"  
  
The ghost lowered the paper. "I probably shouldn't tell ye this, but if yer askin' me, yer obviously scared about it. right?"  
  
Keith nodded, casting his eyes downward with shame.  
  
"Alrighty then, get yerself a good breath of air n' come on back down. it'll be a bit of a lengthy explanation."  
  
Keith complied, going back up, catching his breath and taking many deep breaths before going back down.  
  
The moment he saw Keith floating in the doorway of the truck, he began to explain. "Remember I be tellin' ye about Blake Dexter?"  
  
Keith nodded, dislodging a few bubbles from his nose.  
  
"Well, know that yer father n' I come from ah family o' wizards that be hatin' Mudbloods with a passion. the Malfoy family goes back nearly a thousand 'er so years. Ya've got wizard cousins all over the world."  
  
Keith nodded again. His cousin from England, leering at him so contemptuously when he was four years old, was all the reminder he needed of that.  
  
"Well, yer pop and I were different from yer extended family. we threw out the teachin's of yer grandmother and both vowed never ta be judgin' a book by its cover, y'know."  
  
Keith simply ignored the pressure in his chest; this was too important for him to miss. He nodded, prompting his uncle to continue.  
  
"It all 'appened when I was fresh outta Castagloria, n' yer father was still across the pond at Hogwarts. Ah became n' Auror n' was assigned a partner. Blake Dexter."  
  
Keith cocked his head, a gasp of surprise coming forth from his mouth as a silvery cloud of bubbles. Didn't his uncle say that Blake Dexter was Dark Wizard?  
  
Apparently seeing his nephew's confusion, he continued. "That was before he went bad. he was once an Auror just like me and yer pop. Anyway, once ah found out he was acceptin' bribes of Dark Arts artifacts n' money ta hide Dark Wizards and conveniently 'loose' those we was huntin', I tried ta subdue him and bring him on into the Ministry. but he got away."  
  
Keith balled up his toes and clenched his fists at his side, stubbornly denying his need for air.  
  
"Ye need a break?" asked his uncle, sincerely.  
  
Keith shook his head, his eyes teeming with concentration.  
  
His uncle shrugged. "Alright. but no drownin' yerself this time. Anyway, where was I. ah yes. so, then I reckon it was Blake Dexter that tracked me down, angry 'bout my betrayal o' him. He stunned me and dropped me at the bottom o' this here lake, which now, I can't ever leave. guess he felt that'd be a suitin' revenge. The Killin' curse never leaves behind a ghost. probably why he didn't use it."  
  
Keith bit down on his lip hard, bubbles beginning to trickle out of the sides of his mouth. Nonetheless, he waved his uncle on.  
  
"I guess yer father forgot our oath after ah died. ya see, Blake Dexter was a Muggleborn, n' yer father's been obsessed with trackin' him down these seven long years. n' yer about to drown yerself again! Didn't we talk about this before? Go get some air fer the love o' Merlin!  
  
Unable to deny his uncle's request, he pushed off the ground, swimming for the surface. He could hear is uncle muttering to himself: "The day the boy learns the Bubblehead Charm, is the day I'll die happy. again."  
  
After catching his breath and returning a third time, his uncle continued.  
  
"Ta be answerin' yer question. yer father don't hate Muggle blood. My guess is he's sorta lost right now, yer goin' off ta Castagloria, away from his protected home. Yer a big boy now, almost all growed up. He's just afraid Blake Dexter gonna be tryin' somethin' to hurt ya, that's all."  
  
Keith swallowed a lump that was emerging in his throat. He had never thought of that. His father had never liked Jethro; laziness was one of his pet peeves. If Blake Dexter wanted to get his father best, Jethro wasn't the one he'd try to strike. He lowered his head, looking at the muddy floor beneath his feet, feeling ashamed. Why'd he have to doubt his father? Why'd he have to think all those awful thoughts about him?  
  
"Hey now, keep yer chin up," snorted his uncle. "Don't ya be gittin all soft over this."  
  
Keith looked back, staring at his uncle's blurry shape through the window.  
  
"Yer pop'll rip the ears off of the man who tries to hurt ya. He loves ya and yer ma more than life itself. Don't think it fer one minute that he doesn't, no matter what he does or says, got it?"  
  
Keith's frown eventually worked itself off his face, being replaced with a thin, confident smile. He nodded once, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over his body.  
  
"Anyway," said his uncle, "yer leavin' fer Castagloria tomorrow, right?"  
  
Keith nodded again.  
  
"Ye give old Joe a 'howdy from beyond the grave' for me if he's still there. He was my Potions Master. So good, I bet he's the principle if he stuck around that long."  
  
Keith couldn't remember off the top of his head that the principle of Castagloria was, but it had said on top of his letter. He gave his uncle 'thumbs up' and started back to the surface.  
  
"Oh, n' Keith?" asked his uncle's ghost. Keith popped his head back into the truck, stopping his upward assent. "Take care o' yerself, kid. yer my favorite too."  
  
Keith smiled winningly and gave two thumbs up before swimming away. Now, it seemed to Keith that things were starting to make sense. He broke though the surface, taking a few rejuvenating breathes of air. Yet, Keith couldn't help to feel a bit anxious as the butterflies danced around in his chest. He swam back to the shore, ignored Jethro who had not even given him a second regard, (he was too immersed in the comic book world) and helped his mother make dinner. He had decided that he would confront his father about Blake Dexter tonight, and find out if his uncle was indeed correct.  
  
His father arrived home promptly that evening and, after removing his indigo cloak and throwing it onto the coat rack, sat down with Mary, Keith, Jethro, Dennis and the two twins Michelle and Carmen, who were strapped in their high chairs. After a particularly hilarious incident where Michelle tossed her beef stew all over Dennis, who screamed and ran out of the room sobbing, the dinner was over. His father still didn't talk, however, as the shame on the Boulevard from a week ago must have still been gnawing at him.  
  
Still, Keith was determined to speak to his father alone at some point, waking him up tonight if he needed to. Thankfully, however, it didn't come to that, for immediately after Keith and his mother had begun washing the dishes, his father came and demanded that Keith speak with him in his study. Keith, all too excited to speak to his father, dropped the dishrag and followed at once.  
  
His father sat down behind his desk and Keith sat in a chair opposite, swinging his legs with anticipation of his father's words.  
  
"Keith, I must speak with you concerning what happened a week ago," his father began, as if timid to breach the subject.  
  
Keith, however, shook his head. "No pop, I get it. it's alright. Uncle Martin told me 'bout Blake Dexter."  
  
A mixture of anger and relief crossed his father's face, a curious pair of emotions; anger flared behind his gray eyes while relief sighed out from his mouth. However, that alone didn't end the conversation. "Look, Keith, I am sorry to have hidden the truth from you for so long. I didn't want you to know about him; I was hoping I could catch him before you went to Castagloria."  
  
Keith shrugged subtly, as if not wanting to formally commit to doubt. "It's ok, pop," said Keith, trying to sound confident. "Ya really think Blake Dexter might come after me?"  
  
His father sighed deeply and reached into his desk at that moment, a look of pure defeat on his face. "I got this, sent by an anonymous owl, nine months ago." From his desk, he withdrew a wrinkled piece of parchment and slid it across the desk to his son. Keith, interested, leaned forward and began to read it. It was written in pristine penmanship, in what appeared to be blood.  
  
Francis,  
  
Know that nothing can save Keith from me. Nothing. Before he steps onto the Castagloria Express at Chicago International, you hug him close. You smell that shampoo in his hair; you look into his sweet, hazel eyes; you take a picture of that smile of his and, most importantly, you tell him good-bye, because after that, you will never see him again. He will be dead before Christmas Vacation. I shall personally deliver the proof; I hope you enjoy the show.  
  
Sincerely, You-Know-Who (and, no, not Lord Voldemort)  
  
Keith's own interest turned to daggers of ice, lodged deep into his spine, paralyzing him. His breath chilled in his lungs and his face drained of all his blood. The imagery alone, of him being talked about in such a way, distilled his resolve and made him sweat cold drops of terror from his brow. "Pop. why?" he rasped, his knee knocking with fear. "Why."  
  
"It goes back a long way, Keith," stated Mr. Hillsfar, crossing his arms and staring long and hard at the letter, "but, I swear by Merlin that he won't have a chance to lay a finger on you."  
  
Keith frowned deeply and folded his hands over his lap. "I'm not afraid, pop. I know you'll do it."  
  
Keith didn't remember how that conversation ended, or the rest of that night, really. His mind was just on too many different things. The whirling excitement of going away from home for the first time ever mixed with his own anticipation of the dangers that lurked down the road for him.  
  
He was lying in his bed before he knew it, trying vainly to sleep. The more he tried, the more awake he felt. It was a very hot night and even warmer in Keith's room. He couldn't sleep in anything more than boxer shorts, or he'd sweat to death before ever finding rest. Not that he was finding it anyway. The way his bed was positioned in his room gave him a great view out the window, over the creek. The moon was full tonight, shining like a bright platinum coin in the sky.  
  
Keith held up his left hand, the satin glove having all but become a part of him. He no longer felt it; it was like it was always there. He had meant to ask his father about it, but he had forgotten in light of his trials on the morrow. The Portkey to Chicago International had just arrived by owl an hour ago. At six o'clock tomorrow, it was going to draw him halfway across the country to the Castagloria Express, where he would have to find Terminal 38 and 5/8s at Chicago International Airport.  
  
Terminal 38 and 5/8s, chuckled Keith to himself as he flexed his left-hand, couldn't pureblooded wizards do anything easy? His father had told him about Platform 9 and 3/4s and the train that all the kids took to get to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How similar, yet different, magic was around the world.  
  
Keith's wandering mind had nearly lulled him to sleep when he heard a knock at his door. Wondering whom it could be, Keith rose from his bed. He threw the latch off his door and opened it, rubbing a bit of fatigue from his eyes. Behind the door, much to Keith's surprise was Dennis. He was dressed only in boxers and wearing a very scared look on his face.  
  
"Whaddya want?" muttered Keith, not in the mood for any of his little brother's mischief tonight.  
  
Dennis looked at Keith with wide, hazel eyes. He wasn't sure why, but tonight was about the first time he had ever looked at Dennis. Most of the time, he just saw him and acknowledged his existence (or, more often than not, accepted him as a necessary evil). It was the fact that he was going away, Keith reasoned, that made him want to take a real look. His father would be proud of Dennis one day, Keith knew. Dennis was a smaller version of himself, with dirty blonde hair and identical ears. Both had a splattering of freckles about their nose, and both weighed much, much less than Jethro.  
  
"Yer not really goin' away, are ya?" asked Dennis, his lip trembling with impending tears.  
  
Keith rolled his eyes, not wanting to put up with this. "Yea, of course I am. school starts so-"  
  
Keith wasn't allowed to finish, as Dennis grabbed him in a surprisingly tight embrace and began to cry. It was probably the first time Dennis had ever hugged him, or done anything other than make his life utterly miserable. His younger brother buried his face into his bare shoulder, his warm tears cool in light of the heat.  
  
"Um. there. there." Keith said in an alien tone, petting the back of Dennis' head with his right hand.  
  
"Please don't go," sobbed Dennis, hiding his eyes in Keith's shoulder. "I don't wanna be alone. I'll have no one ta play with."  
  
Despite himself, Keith felt a lump emerging in his throat. "Dennis. yer startin' up school soon too, just, its not magic school yet."  
  
"I don't care," protested his brother softly, "I wanna go with ya!"  
  
Keith sighed as his mind began to race. He glanced over to his dresser, spying the wand he used before his father had gotten him a real wand. He broke away from Dennis, reaching over and plunking it from its neglected place.  
  
"Here," said Keith, handing it to Dennis.  
  
Dennis looked up with wide, tear-stained eyes. "But. yer wand. yer gonna need it."  
  
Keith allowed a small, reserved smile to emerge on his face. "Then, ya better gimmie yers then. that way, whenever ya cast a spell, you'll think o' me, and when I cast one, I'll think o' ya."  
  
Dennis sniffled and, with glistening eyes, nodded without even thinking and raced out of the room. A moment later, he returned with his wand and a smile on his face.  
  
"Yer the best, Keith," said Dennis, holding out his wand to his older brother. Keith, however, was not up for such a sentimental handoff. He extended his wand to his little brother, and just when he was about to grab it, called out. "Pookoo!"  
  
A zap of yellow energy hit Dennis in the forehead with a buzz. With a giggle of delight, Dennis cursed Keith right back. Keith, laughing with mirth, dropped his wand and grabbed up Dennis. He tossed him onto his bed and leapt after him. Not to be outdone, Dennis snagged one of Keith's pillows and began to bash him while Keith grabbed his second pillow and proceeded to have at his little brother.  
  
Five minutes later, both boys were exhausted and were lying on their backs panting. Each sported about a dozen superficial injuries all over their bodies and about five pounds worth of down feathers had been smeared all around the room. Keith rolled over to push his brother off his bed, but noticed that the boy's eyes were closed, and he was already breathing rhythmically. He knew how rare it was for Dennis to get to sleep; the poor kid was terrified by nightmares. But here, with his older brother by his side, Dennis had felt safe and Keith knew he was. He would never let anyone hurt his little brother, well, with the obvious exception of himself.  
  
Keith sighed, deciding against his last bout of violence. He rolled over on his side of his own bed, and in moments, he too was snoring.  
  
Neither boy had noticed their father, who had been attracted by the sounds of fighting in Keith's room. He had been watching them through the open doorway, long before their fight had stopped. He remained standing there long after Keith and Dennis had fallen asleep. With silent, stealthy steps, he entered the room and took up the simple sheet that had been kicked into a pile at the foot of the bed. He spread it over both of his sons and kissed each one of them goodnight before leaving.  
  
He would not let anyone hurt his pureblooded boys. no matter what the cost was to himself.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Keith was awoken bright and early. His father shook his shoulder and was whispering softly to him, rousing him from his sleep.  
  
"It is time to get ready," he said, his black cloak already thrown over his shoulders. Outside, the sun had only begun to rise over the creek, adding a mild shade of blue to the night sky. "The Portkey will be teleporting us out in a half-hour."  
  
Keith had started to say something before he had understood the purpose of his father's whispers. Dennis was still asleep on the other side of his bed, his face smothered rather comically into a very flat, featherless pillow. Keith rose from the bed silently and grabbed up his fake wand. He put it on the pillow next to his sleeping brother. At the same time, he took Dennis wand and tossed it into the suitcase at the foot of his bed.  
  
His father left to wake Jethro. Keith finished his last bit of packing, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom. He went over a mental checklist. It finally dawned on him that his father must have forgotten to get his pet, as he had not seen it with the rest of his school supplies. He pulled his suitcase out with both hands, dragging it along the floor.  
  
"Pop," said Keith, when he arrived in the kitchen. "Did ya forget my pet?"  
  
Mr. Hillsfar was sitting at the table with his mother and Jethro, drinking down a mug of steaming coffee. "No, Keith. Your pet will be waiting for you at Castagloria."  
  
Jethro blinked with disbelief, his jaw dropping. "What? Keith got a pet. I didn't get one 'til this year!"  
  
His father ignored Jethro.  
  
"Got everything, sweetie?" asked Keith's mother, looking at his very large suitcase with concern. Most of Keith's school supplies had already been delivered to the school. His clothing and personal belongings, however, his father had ordered him to bring by hand. Why that was, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to question it.  
  
"Yea ma," nodded Keith, glancing up to the clock. "I'm ready." The clock read five minutes to six.  
  
They rose from the kitchen table and moved into the living room. Keith's mother proceeded to hug both Jethro and Keith equally, giving them each two kisses on each cheek, and drawing a humiliated blush for every kiss. Soon, it was time. Mr. Hillsfar held up a roll of toilet paper, the Portkey that the school had sent them.  
  
"Grab hold, boys."  
  
Keith's mother blew them each a kiss. "Have a good term boys, don't ferget ta write!"  
  
"We won't, ma," they both answered.  
  
At the stroke of six, a force pulled Keith by the nose, yanking him right off his feet, and right into the roll. He had the extreme sensation of falling, spinning and weaving, yet felt as though he were going nowhere. It was dizzying and within moments, Keith felt sick to his stomach.  
  
No more than a few seconds had passed, but it had seemed like hours. He was thrown forth from the toilet paper, which was no longer a shoe, but a booth of some kind. His suitcase landed on top of him, but it paled in comparison to the weight of his brother who followed it, smearing Keith into the ground with an agonized whine.  
  
His father, possessing much more control, stepped out from the booth and looked down with some degree of amusement, but mostly, he was disgusted. Jethro seemed to take his time getting up, relishing in Keith's misery as he rolled off at last.  
  
There were a lot of people at the airport this early in the morning, but only a handful or so seemed a bit confused as to how Jethro, Keith and his father could have emerged from a phone booth. Most were too puffy-eyed to care, or simply didn't notice. Jethro stood at last, allowing Keith to breathe again. Sore all over from being flattened, Keith struggled to his feet, grumbling a death threat or two concerning Jethro.  
  
Jethro and Mr. Hillsfar led the way. The larger boy simply held his suitcase in one hand, lofted a few inches above the ground while Keith struggled with his, dragging it with all his might. It didn't take too long for them to arrive at terminal 38, for the Portkey had put them rather close to it.  
  
Jethro and his father said a quick good-bye, and the larger boy pulled his suitcase right up to the empty wall between the doors for terminal 38 and 39. He vanished a moment later.  
  
"Your turn, Keith," said his father, sounding much different than he had a moment ago, when he was saying good-bye to Jethro. It was clear which son he'd miss the most.  
  
Keith dropped his luggage and embraced his father, though kept his eyes free of moisture. This wasn't the last time he'd see him; Keith knew it. Dexter might be out there and might want to see him dead, but it wasn't going to happen. His father wouldn't let it.  
  
"Bye, pop," murmured Keith as he broke away, picking up his luggage again.  
  
Francis merely nodded and waved once. He didn't show any sign of leaving, however, until Keith was gone. Keith turned to the wall and, trusting his magical instinct, walked through. He had the vague notion of disorientation before emerging on the other side of the wall. He had stepped into a small metallic terminal, five feet wide and ten high. Taking a deep breath, he continued pulling his suitcase through until he emerged at the end, the corridor terminating at the entrance of a large, bright red airplane. A stewardess in her mid-twenties, with a white robe and bright smile, nodded to Keith.  
  
"Greetings, can I help you store your luggage?"  
  
Keith blinked, but nodded. "Sure. That'd be swell."  
  
The stewardess drew her wand and gave it a good flick. "Disaccio Suitcase."  
  
The suitcase suddenly vanished from sight, and the smiling witch beckoned Keith into the plane. "Enjoy your flight."  
  
Keith chuckled at the display and boarded the plane happily. Never had he seen such a strange sight. The plane was positively huge, much more so than the humble doorway would suggest. To his surprise, the plane was already filled with students, nearly all of them dressed in red, brown, green or blue robes. As far as the eye could see, drowsy, sleeping faces dotted rows upon rows of seats, as if the plane had no end. Keith walked down the isle slowly, looking about for any sort of familiar face. Jethro had already taken a seat with two other wizards dressed in similar blue robes, marking them from the Order of Air. But, Keith, on the other hand, had no one. and felt rather naked in his humble, ratty cloak. Few seemed to notice him, however, as most were snoring contently.  
  
After a five-minute walk down to the end of the plane, Keith was hailed down by a familiar voice.  
  
"Keith! Over here!"  
  
It came from a cluster of three seats on the left side. In one of the seats was Kale, and the other, David. David, like usual, was wearing his leather jacket. His blonde hair (Keith could have sworn it was black last time he saw him) was bulletproof and his sunglasses hid any obvious reaction to Keith's approach. Perhaps it was the lighting, but his skin seemed even more pale and fragile than it had before on the boulevard. Kale, however, seemed delighted to see him, his own mousy-gray hair standing on ends, as if he had just woken up and hadn't bothered to comb at all. His brothers were nowhere in sight; likely, he had passed them and didn't realize it.  
  
Keith smiled as he sat down next to Kale. David had claimed the window seat and was, so far, unresponsive. The telltale sound of rap music was coming from his headphones and his head was lulled back into the pillow. It occurred to Keith that he must be asleep.  
  
"He's been here for three hours," observed Kale, with a nod to David, "he got the real short straw. he was one of the first ones to port key on in."  
  
Keith scoffed with disbelief. "Whoa. why don't they jus' have everyone arrive at the same time?"  
  
Kale must have thought that was the stupidest idea he had ever heard. "You kidding me? Imagine everyone arriving in that booth at the same time. It'd be pandemonium!"  
  
"Ah," noted Keith, not having thought of that. "How long ya been here?"  
  
Kale shrugged uncaringly. "Eh, bout an hour or so."  
  
It was a load off Keith's back that Kale hadn't once mentioned Keith's father. He had been afraid that Kale and David were lost as friends over that incident on the boulevard. Well, he wasn't able to judge what David's reaction would be, however, Kale didn't seem bothered about it at all.  
  
"Um. Kale. did David mention. y'know?"  
  
Kale sighed, as if Keith had dug up a memory he didn't want to relive. "Yeah. He doesn't blame ya though. he was actually upset that he slapped your hand away. He knew you were just trying to help."  
  
Keith nodded, listening carefully. "That's good, I suppose."  
  
Kale also nodded. "Yeah, he's definitely still cool with you. I don't get why your dad spazzed out on him, though."  
  
Keith frowned, the term 'spazzing out' really irritating him when used to describe his father. No, he hadn't lost control. After what Muggleborns had done to Uncle Martin, he had all the reason in the world to hate them. But, this was neither the time nor the place for that argument. "That makes two of us," lied Keith, leaning back into his chair.  
  
Fortune was with Keith, and his family must have been one of the last, if not the last, to board the plane. A voice blared from all sides of the plane, as if someone was speaking right into Keith's head.  
  
"Welcome aboard the Castagloria Express. For one mite, you get your choice of hot chocolate or tea, for two, you get a blanket and a snack off the cart. Lunch will be served at twelve. We are expected to arrive at the school at four. Have a pleasant flight."  
  
David apparently hadn't heard a thing; his headphones were so loud that he probably couldn't even hear himself dream. How he could be asleep with those on was a mystery to Keith.  
  
The plane lurched backward, pulling away from the terminal. It slowly crawled down the runway, building its speed. The engine was remarkably silent; he could barely hear it accelerate as it began to sprint down the runway. A moment later, Keith felt all the weight in his body push against the back of his chair. The nose of the plane went airborne, followed by the rest of it. He had been on a plane once or twice before, so it didn't come as much of a shock for him.  
  
Kale lightly shook David's shoulder. The boy blinked his eyes, slowly coming to. He removed his headphones and looked over at Kale. When he noticed Keith, he gasped and pulled off his sunglasses.  
  
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't know you were there, Keith, I was asleep." his voice tripped over itself several times, as he held out his hand. Keith, a bit taken aback by his sudden sprout of words, nodded with understanding and shook his hand.  
  
"It's good ta see ya again, David," remarked Keith with a nod and a smile.  
  
David blushed, as if he had been given the greatest compliment in the world. "Thanks."  
  
"You want some hot chocolate or tea?" asked Kale, "or a blanket and a snack? It's only two mites for all that."  
  
David looked positively confused. He withdrew a dollar bill from his pocket, scratching his head. Keith could have sworn he saw sparks as the boy ground his fingers against that helmet he called hair.  
  
"What's a mite?" asked David, biting his lip nervously.  
  
"It's like a half-dollar," answered Keith, who had to deal with both dollars and Wizarding currency evenly.  
  
"Oh!" answered David, bashfully. "Well, I'll take the royal treatment."  
  
When the snack cart came around, Keith handed over a dollar bill and four mites. A blanket was thrown over each of them; they must have each been enchanted with a Warming Charm, for they were as cozy as home. For his snack, Keith chose a chocolate frog, as did David, who knew little about Wizarding snacks and just copied Keith. Kale chose a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, much to Keith's surprise. All three boys settled on hot chocolate, however, and pulled down their tray tables from the chairs in front of them.  
  
"Ugh! How can you eat those?" Keith gagged, making a face. "My brother gave me one and I got 'Armpit Sweat'!"  
  
Kale popped a yellow bean into his mouth. "Mmm. lemon!" He then looked to Keith. "Just rotten luck. I never get the bags with bad flavors."  
  
"Really?" asked Keith, looking intrigued.  
  
Kale nodded his affirmation, popping a brown bean into his mouth. "Root beer."  
  
Keith held out his hand. "Can I have one?"  
  
Kale shook his head, pulling his beans closer to him protectively. "Afraid not. whenever I give someone a bean from my bag, they jinx it. They always get a booger flavored one, and then every other bean in the bag is disgusting."  
  
Keith withdrew his hand quickly. "Fair enough."  
  
David seemed most perplexed by this discussion. "Wait. why would they put in beans that taste bad? That makes no sense."  
  
Kale lifted his chin, looking loftily at David. "Well, then they couldn't call it Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, now could they?"  
  
Keith chuckled while David continued to protest. "But why not actually have beans people like to eat, and just name it Bertie Bott's Flavor Beans, and just leave out the 'Every'?"  
  
"What kind of sense would that make?" scoffed Kale, as if that were the most illogical thing he had ever heard. Keith couldn't help but laugh out loud. David sighed and gave up, deciding to open up his chocolate frog.  
  
"Holy crap!" yelped David as the frog leapt out of the tin, causing him to practically fall out of his seat with shock.  
  
Kale was there, however, snatching the frog out of the air with a lightning fast catch. He smirked and flipped it back to David. "They only got one jump in 'em to begin with. enjoy."  
  
David stared with wide-eyed astonishment as the frog settled into his lap, not moving. He prodded it a few times, timidly, before he proceeded to eat.  
  
Keith, however, was staring at Kale with interest. "That was a hell of a catch!" he exclaimed. "You a seeker?"  
  
Kale smirked modestly, his cheeks lightly staining red. "Yeah. my two brothers are chasers and I'm a seeker. We scrimmage against our sisters all the time."  
  
Keith nodded, listening with interest. "I ain't really played all that much. but I played soccer a bunch at my Muggle middle school; always was the goalie. I reckon Keeper ain't all that different in Quidditch than in soccer."  
  
"Soccer?" asked David and Kale at the same time, though David sounded more interested and Kale more confused.  
  
"Yeah," answered Keith, looking to David. "You play?"  
  
David nodded enthusiastically. "Ya! I was one of the best in my school. I played forward."  
  
"Forward is like a Chaser, right?" asked Kale, looking to Keith.  
  
Keith nodded. "Um. yeah, pretty much, I guess."  
  
"Damn!" commented Kale, almost ecstatic with delight. He punched his fist into the palm of his hand. "We should form our own sixth grade Quidditch team when we get to school. Keith could be Keeper, I'd be the Seeker, my brothers and David could be Chasers. just need two Beaters."  
  
David looked completely lost. Keith also was a bit confused. "Wait, we can just form our own team?"  
  
Kale nodded excitedly. "Yeah. why not? It don't even matter what Order we're in. We can still be on the same team. The Orders only compete in school work and in twelfth-grade Quidditch."  
  
Keith remembered his father telling him that he had always wanted to play Keeper for his team at Hogwarts, but just wasn't good enough to beat out another kid in his year, so he was never given a chance to play. Keith assumed it would be more or less the same way at Castagloria.  
  
The three boys conversed about Soccer, Quidditch, the Wizarding World, the Muggle World, or just about any other topic that came up. Keith was very relieved that David didn't bear him any hard feelings from a week ago. After about two hours or so, the conversation died off. Kale took the chance to take a nap. David was staring out the window, perfectly silent, and Keith couldn't help but feel the effects of the early start tugging at his eyelids. He rested back into his comfortable pillow and closed his eyes. Castagloria was still a few hours awake and a nap would really hit the spot well.  
  
And so, Keith napped, blissfully unaware of the fact someone was watching him at that very moment. Someone who meant him harm.  
  
A lot of it. 


	4. Chapter 4: Gloria Nexus

Chapter 4: Gloria Nexus  
  
"Attention all Castagloria students," echoed the captain's (at least that was Keith's guess) voice, jostling Keith from his blissful nap. "We will be landing at Gloria Nexus in ten minutes. Sixth graders are required to leave the plane to attend their orientation. School robes are mandatory, change into them at the tail of the plane if you haven't already done so. The rest of the student body will continue on to Castagloria."  
  
Kale also was awakened and nudged David, who was staring out at the window, his headphone's blaring. Apparently, he had missed the message, for he jumped at Kale's touch.  
  
"C'mon," bade Kale, removing David's headphones with a look of disgust. "Take those things off. We have to get changed into our school robes."  
  
David flushed slightly and rose, as did Kale and Keith. Several other students within line of sight had risen, girls and boys their age, all with excitement on their faces. Keith led his two friends to the back of the plane.  
  
Three serving witches had already begun to take requests for baggage retrieval, the process being a very certain shade of unique. They were waving their wands and, at the completion of each spell, a robe shot forth from an open door beneath them, where the baggage was kept. When it was Keith's turn, the serving witch, a round woman in her thirties, smiled at him. "Name, dear?"  
  
"Keith Hillsfar," replied Keith, shifting his weight awkwardly.  
  
The witch waved her wand. "Accio Keith Hillsfar's School Robe."  
  
Keith was stunned. Behind him, Kale chuckled. "Wow, Summoning Charms can get really specific, can't they?"  
  
The witch smiled kindly at him. "Certainly, if you practice them enough. I once summoned my personal bubble bath kit, all the way from my home in Canada. That was a lengthy incantation."  
  
Keith also chuckled just as his robe shot out of the cargo hold. It hovered in the air before him. He quickly changed, as did Kale and David when their robes appeared. David, unable to help himself, slipped on his sunglasses, after having changed into his robe.  
  
"How do I look?" he asked with a curt smile as they walked back to their seats, fully robed.  
  
Their black, Orderless school robes were certainly smooth and comfortable, however, they were as bland as cold coffee. Needless to say, David's sunglasses and his hard, blonde hair definitely gave him a unique look from most wizards.  
  
"Like a fruitcake in a black robe wearing sunglasses," answered Kale dryly.  
  
David took off his sunglasses and muttered softly.  
  
Ten minutes after they had returned to their seats, the plane touched down. It purred so silently the entire ride that Keith had forgotten they were airborne. They rolled for what must have been no more than a second before coming to a complete stop.  
  
"All sixth graders, please proceed to the front of the plane. Welcome to Gloria Nexus."  
  
"That's us," said David, who had not put his headphones back on and had actually heard the announcement.  
  
Kale looked over at him, a slight smirk on his face. "Ya think?"  
  
Keith rose and stepped into the back of the line of students that had formed in the isle. While sixth graders were only about a seventh of the total population on the plane, there were still a ton of them. A quick headcount of those in front of him and those on the other side of the plane put the number of students at well over one hundred. Palettes of facial expressions were visible, ranging from anticipation to excitement.  
  
The right and left doors were both open. At each door was a smiling serving witch, waving and biding those leaving farewell. As Keith got closer, he noticed that it was not a terminal that connected to the doors this time around, but rather a.  
  
"Spiraling staircase?" asked David, confusion on his face.  
  
"Well, what did you expect?" returned Kale, "A waterslide?"  
  
Even Keith had to admit, a spiral staircase was a rather weird choice. He had expected a terminal or perhaps, at very least, a mobile, straight stairwell.  
  
They finally passed the serving witch, who cautioned them to watch their step while dismounting the plane. Keith clambered down the wooden steps, all the while looking as he went. A sizable congregation of students was already spreading out across the runway beneath them, trickling out of the circular staircase like a stream of water. The airport was the queerest airport he had ever seen, though he hadn't really been to that many. It was a single runway about three times longer than the Castagloria Express; Keith wondered how it could have possibly landed! All around the airport were mountains, spanning very high into the air like the solid, insurmountable rock boundaries they were. There was only one way into this airport, and that was by air. There was a single hanger behind the plane, pushed back against the mountain wall. Other than that, the place seemed empty.  
  
Finally, he stepped foot on the runway, a bit dizzy from his descent down the spiraling stairwell. All around him were students, some were keeping to themselves, looking around timidly and shyly, while others were whispering and speaking quietly with some of their peers.  
  
Once the last sixth grade student got off the plane, it roared to life, while the spiraling stairwells sunk into the ground, vanishing from sight.  
  
"What's going on?" demanded Keith, now growing nervous. The plane rolled away a few feet before its nose lifted up radically into the air. It launched itself straight up, clearing the remarkably acute mountaintops by what seemed like inches.  
  
Kale also looked quite concerned. "I don't know. my sisters never told me about this!"  
  
David just looked rather lost.  
  
Soon, the plane had vanished from sight, leaving all of the sixth graders alone, without any visible adult or supervision. The whispers gradually grew louder as more kids began to question what was going on. From the crowd of about two hundred students, Michael and Morgan appeared, looking at their brother with concern.  
  
"Lauren tell you about this?" asked maybe Michael, looking at Kale.  
  
Kale just shrugged helplessly.  
  
Keith's imagination began to run wild. He wondered if this could this be Blake Dexter's doing. Maybe the teacher that was supposed to be here had been killed and Dexter was about to attack, killing Keith and his friends, and sending his father their heads. He shuddered nervously at the thought, pulling at the collar of his robe to clear his airway.  
  
The minutes grew longer as more and more students appeared restless. Something was happening, something was wrong, and Keith was now afraid. David, who was staring at Keith, sensed his fear too and also looked rather dubious and timid.  
  
"We have to find some way of contacting Castagloria," proposed Kale, looking at the sky. "It's probably just something stupid, like the teacher who was going to give our orientation forgot."  
  
The four other boys both shrugged, though David was looking a bit weak at the knees. Kale just groaned and pushed away from the gathered kids, moving through the crowd. Keith, having no better ideas, followed him. David, Michael and Morgan, in turn, followed Keith. Other such groups of acquaintances were being formed and, slowly, the student body was dispersing.  
  
"Alright guys!" Kale yelled, projecting his voice loud enough so everyone could hear him. He turned back to the mob of students. "Me and my friends are going to check out the hanger. Anyone who wants to come, come."  
  
About a dozen students, four smaller groups, joined up with Keith and his friends. The group of sixteen boys and girls left, heading down the runway and toward the hanger, leaving a crowd of nearly two hundred other students huddled together timidly.  
  
Keith had the impulse to draw his wand as they neared the hanger, though in truth, Keith really had to wonder at what good it would do. He knew how to turn hay into needles and he knew how to do a minor Spark Hex, but what good would that do against Blake Dexter, if he was indeed waiting for him?  
  
"Wait out here," said Kale, looking back to the rest of their group. "If we ain't back in five minutes, just wait longer."  
  
"And if we scream in terrible agony." added Michael.  
  
". come on in and save us," finished Morgan grimly.  
  
Kale took point, along with his two fearless brothers. David hid behind Keith, and not that he blamed him. Keith, however, wasn't going to let the triplets go in alone. He followed behind Morgan, and finally did draw his wand, only because that is what Kale, Morgan and Michael had done. He decided that he might as well look intimidating. David also followed, his own small, battered looking wand extended. For a Muggleborn, he seemed to have had his wand for a long time; either that or, most likely, he had bought a used one.  
  
The inside of the hanger was a real treat. The insides were about ten times bigger than the outside. While it appeared to be little more than a one-story house from the runway, it was a huge hall on the inside, complete with five very long tables and about a dozen crates. At the center of it all was a small alter with a gray glowing sphere atop it.  
  
Keith's eyes were drawn towards the five, grand tables. At least two hundred could be seated, which was probably no coincidence. Yet, even the massive amount of chairs weren't what interested him. What interested him was the sheer quantity of food on top, probably not a coincidence either. On the tabletops were everything from hamburgers, to crocks filled with warm chicken soup; there were hot-dogs to steak, to salads to fruits. Freshly steamed biscuits and gravy still smoked with warmth while every type of condiment imaginable lined the centers of each table. Keith's mouth watered and his belly rumbled. With exception to his chocolate frog, he hadn't eaten anything all day.  
  
David, Morgan and Michael had moved toward the dozen crates, gasping and ahhing. Keith glanced over as Michael withdrew a soccer ball, looking at it curiously, while David took out a Quaffle and scratched his head. The crates seemed to be filled with recreational toys of all sorts ranging from tennis balls to quaffles and including jump ropes and even broomsticks.  
  
"Hey, look at this!" called Kale, who had moved into the center of the room. He was standing on the altar, studying to glowing crystal ball. Kale touched his wand to it with a flick of his hand. The crystal hummed and shifted from gray to green.  
  
A scream echoed from outside, sounding dangerously like two hundred terrified eleven year olds in unison.  
  
"The hell did you do, Kale?" barked Michael, while Keith and David rushed outside to investigate.  
  
Keith pushed open the door. The entire airport had changed from gray pavement to a luscious field of green grass. By now, several dozen were running toward the hanger, while others either laughed or chuckled, the shock of everything around them changing having worn off.  
  
Everyone yelped with confusion again, as suddenly, the entire airport shifted from green grass to waist deep water. Now, more people seemed to be shouting in protest, especially the girls, now that they were soaked. Several islands of pearly white sand sprouted from the surface at certain points.  
  
"What's going on out there?" yelled Kale from the outside. "Seems like people always scream whenever I touch this ball!"  
  
The ground shifted again before Keith could answer. Now, all the water instantly vanished and the ground was replaced by dry sand. This time, very few people yelped or cried out with surprise. The random changes had lost their effect.  
  
"Whatever yer doin' is changin' everythin' out here!" exclaimed Keith, looking back inside at Kale.  
  
David, by now, was laughing with excitement. "Yeah! It's gone from airport pavement, to grass, to a swimming pool, to a desert!"  
  
The desert sand changed back into an airport once again, and then, predictably, began to shift very quickly, as Kale rapidly tapped the top just because he could. The pattern was constant, cycling through the choices once again. It stopped on the swimming lagoon by the time about thirty more students had joined the eleven or so near the hanger.  
  
"What the heck are you doing in there?" demanded a young girl with firm, hard eyes and long, sandy-blonde hair that matched Keith's. She was in the lead of the group, and clearly not looking happy.  
  
Keith winced apologetically and looked back to the girl. "Sorry. Kale's um. experimentin' with a new toy."  
  
"Well, tell 'Kale' to stop, 'cause he's making me and about one hundred others sick!" exclaimed the girl, as she waded up to the hanger through the teal green water. "Besides, my shoes are now soaked!"  
  
A dozen others grunted in affirmation.  
  
"He's stopped," comforted Keith. "Hey look, um. what's your name?"  
  
The girl crossed her arms bossily. "Julia."  
  
"Julia, nice name," he said, then looked at the other thirty or so students that had gathered around the hanger. "Why don't ya'll go inside and check it out." Keith took off his shoes and socks, kicked them to the side of the door and stepped into the watery outside as well. "It's amazin' in there."  
  
David followed Keith's example and removed his sneakers. He then followed Keith into the waist-deep water. Julia stayed outside, while the other kids entered the hanger. Their discontent grumbling turned to gasps of astonishment as soon as they laid eyes upon the tables of food.  
  
"Well, aint'cha goin' to take a look inside?" asked Keith, looking at Julia with confusion.  
  
Julia gave Keith the evil eye and shoved passed him, entering the hanger. Keith rubbed his shoulder and rolled his eyes to the sky.  
  
"I think you made a friend," offered David with a bashful smile.  
  
Keith glanced back at him and also smirked. "Ya got that impression too, huh?"  
  
Both boys laughed at that.  
  
Eventually, the rest of the student body meandered over to the hanger. It was just about a unanimous decision that the food had been left there for them, and within minutes, everyone was seated and eating some of the delicious lunch.  
  
After the meal, Kale and his brothers conducted a vote on what the ground would be set outside. After a bit of experimenting and vote tallies, the aquatic setting won out. Keith couldn't have been more thrilled.  
  
"This stinks," muttered a girl, with short red hair, next to Keith. "I don't have a swim suit!"  
  
Keith pulled off his own robe and shirt. "So? Jus' roll up yer pants," he told her, as he rolled up his cuffs above his knees.  
  
Julia stood on his other side, looking as bossy as before with her arms crossed and her face set in a sour pucker. "Girls can't just do that. we need swimsuits!"  
  
"Why not?" came the simple answer from Kale, who had already taken Keith's advice and was ready to jump out of the hanger.  
  
Julia flushed red; for some reason, she was embarrassed. "It's not lady-like!"  
  
"Hey!" exclaimed a voice from across the hanger. A tall girl with freckles covering most of her face had just emerged from an unnoticed room, next to the bathrooms. "It's a Transfiguration chamber!" she exclaimed excitedly. Keith only had noticed her head at first, but when a few people parted aside, he was given a full look at her. She was wearing a one-piece black swimsuit instead of a robe. "Try it out!"  
  
Within ten minutes, just about everyone was wearing a swimsuit, after merely stepping into the closet, saying 'swimsuit' and leaving. Keith's clothing had turned into a pair of black swimming trunks, as had Kale's and David's. In no time, about fifty boys and girls, Julia included, had grabbed up six quaffles and had raced out into the shallow areas of the airport-turned-lagoon. Kale had tried to organize a game of land-based Quiddich, but didn't get very far when Julia took a Quaffle and hummed it at his head, telling him to shut-up. Kale's response was a laugh and a throw right back at her, triggering a dodgeball game, boys against girls.  
  
Keith had never had more fun in his life. After dodgeball got boring, a swimming race in the deeper parts of the lagoon was on. As much as Keith loved swimming, he was surprised to find out that he wasn't a fast swimmer compared to one or two others. He was disappointed to see that it was Julia who finished right before him. For a girl who despised getting her feet wet, she sure knew how to swim.  
  
She was even better at rubbing it in.  
  
"Why are ya so bossy?" asked Keith, as a group of students collected on one of the sandy islands, regaining their breath. The other students were doing one of a dozen different activities ranging from dodge ball, to actual flying on broomsticks, to a game pickle between two islands, using tennis balls. As Keith suspected, the broomsticks wouldn't go higher than ten feet to prevent injury. David was getting flying lessons from Kale. The small group on this island was from the race: Michael, Julia, Keith and three others he didn't know.  
  
It was now nighttime and all confusion about being abandoned here had long since run its course. For all Keith cared, they could stay there forever. Even though the moon shined brightly above, it was not dark at all in this little lagoon/airport. It was as though it shined with its own light; Keith could see just as clearly as he could during the daytime.  
  
Julia looked at Keith with shock. "Bossy?"  
  
"So ya won a race, whoopee." muttered Keith, flopping on the sand. "You've been on my case since you first saw me."  
  
Julia shrugged emotionlessly. "Well, I'm a big believer in the 'mild disdain at first sight' theory. I just don't like you."  
  
A girl he didn't know laughed at that.  
  
"Gee, your really friendly," observed Michael, with a serious tone. "About as friendly as a vampire in a blood bank."  
  
Keith sighed, forgetting about Julia. His eyes drifted over to Kale and David. He chuckled as Kale fell off his broom trying to turn. David was quick to help him out of the water. By the end of the night, Keith was sure that it would be David giving Kale pointers. The boy seemed to be quite a natural while Kale was about as graceful in the air as a one-winged sparrow.  
  
"I thought he said he was a seeker," said Keith, glancing over at Michael, who was chewing his bottom lip.  
  
Michael laughed, however. "Him? A seeker. he couldn't catch a fireball if he were tied to a heat-seeking missile."  
  
"He's got good hand-eye coordination," parried Keith, remembering his very quick snag of David's frog on the train. He picked up a beached rock and tossed it into the air, catching it as it landed.  
  
"True, but he can't fly!" Michael exclaimed with a laugh. "He was never able to. Morgan and me been trying to get him to learn, our sisters all took a shot at it. As a man with steel boots can't swim a boy named Kale can't fly."  
  
Keith hadn't flown much in his life, but a few times, his father had taken him up on his broomstick when he was younger. While he had loved it those few times, he had no driving desire to take his feet off the ground. Keith didn't like to be at the mercy of magic, something he didn't really understand. Jethro had his own Cleansweep and loved to brag about his top speed of twenty miles per hour; Keith was certain that wasn't very fast.  
  
"Well, where are we gonna get a Seeker fer our team?" asked Keith, tossing the rock into the air again. Kale, over their lunch earlier that day, had told his brothers about his desire to start up a Quidditch team, so the question didn't come as a surprise to Michael.  
  
Julia snatched Keith's rock out of the air with a swipe of her hand and smirked, throwing it into the water.  
  
"So, I heard you need a seeker," she asked, smiling arrogantly down at Keith. "I might be able to help you out."  
  
Keith glowered up at her. "You play Quidditch?"  
  
"No," she snorted, putting her hands to her hips. "It's just always been my dream to say that to some unattractive redneck."  
  
Keith grumbled and picked up another rock. As a combination of a test and a vent of frustration, he flicked his wrist, tossing it up at Julia. She snatched it out of the air and dropped it on Keith's head.  
  
"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his head with pain.  
  
"So you want me on your team or not?" she questioned, glaring down at him.  
  
Keith stood up, looking at her contemptuously. "Not that badly." With that, he turned around. "C'mon Mike, let's get outta here."  
  
Michael stood up to leave as well.  
  
"Wait," said Julia, sounding like a completely different person. "C'mon, don't be like that. Let me play with you guys."  
  
"Forget it," muttered Keith, wading into the water.  
  
Julia huffed from behind. "Alright, fine. I'm sorry. Now that I know you play Quidditch, you suddenly don't seem so pathetic anymore."  
  
Keith and Michael both glanced back, though it was Keith that spoke. "Am I supposed ta be honored by that 'er insulted?"  
  
Julia giggled nervously. "Um. honored?"  
  
At last, the ghost of a smile appeared on Keith's face. "We'll think about it."  
  
And with that, Keith and Michael waded over to another small island, where Kale was resting from a heavy fall in shallow water. He didn't look very happy. David and Morgan were both in the air, tossing a quaffle back and forth.  
  
"Bad brooms," blamed Kale, as he rubbed a bruise. The entire right side of his chest was quite red from a nice ten-foot belly flop.  
  
Michael nodded up to Morgan and David. "Seems they aren't having problems."  
  
Kale grumbled and slapped the ground dejectedly.  
  
"You try too hard," offered Keith, going on an impulse. "There ain't no mystery to flyin'." Keith held out his hand. "Lemme see yer broom."  
  
Kale sighed and handed his broom to Keith. Keith grasped the hilt of the old and battered stick and shoved it between his legs. "It's simple. don't demand the broom ta go up and don't try ta control it - don't try pullin' it every which way - jus' do it."  
  
Keith steadily rose into the air by simply willing himself up. He spun his broom about in a short one eighty and flew over to David and Morgan. David, seeing Keith take to the air, tossed the red quaffle at him. Keith snatched it out of the air and hurled it at Morgan. He then looked down to Kale.  
  
"See, nothin' to it!"  
  
Keith descended back down and hopped onto the ground again. "Now you try."  
  
Kale took the broom, mounted it, and rose steadily into the air.  
  
"There ya go!" cheered Keith, clapping.  
  
Michael leaned over and whispered to Keith. "He always gets into the air and can fly straight fine. It happens when he tries turning."  
  
Kale zoomed ahead steadily; both David and Morgan cheered him on. David tossed the quaffle to Kale, who took his hands off the broom to catch it.  
  
"Wah!" he yelped as he slid off the broom. Keith closed his eyes and winced as he slapped hard into the water again.  
  
". or if he tries to do anything but fly," completed Michael, as Kale surfaced, moaning in pain from another injury. For added insult, the broom hit him in the head as it fell after him.  
  
Keith put his hands to his lips, trying hard not to laugh.  
  
"Well, um, look on the bright side!" exclaimed Keith, trying to sound positive. "We still need a coach and captain fer our team!"  
  
Kale grumbled and flopped onto the ground. "Yeah, yeah," he sighed and waved at Keith dismissively. "I guess I exaggerated by Quidditch skills a bit on the plane."  
  
"Well, I reckon Julia just might be a good seeker," suggested Michael, nodding over to the island where they had just been before. Julia was now talking with Linda and another girl Keith didn't know by name yet. They were laughing and glancing over at Keith's island.  
  
Further conversation was interrupted by a loud voice, booming from the direction of the hanger. "All students report to the hanger for dinner and for the conclusion of your orientation."  
  
Keith leapt out of his skin with surprise, staring toward the hanger. Strangely, he couldn't see anyone. All activity ceased at once and, after a moment of stunned silence, everyone either flew or waded back to the hanger.  
  
From a broomstick above, Blake Dexter snarled contemptuously at Keith Hillsfar, as he and his friends made their way toward the hanger. He had been so tempted to make his move here and now. But, no, reasoned the dark wizard. The faculty was, no doubt, keeping close watch on the young Castaglorian children, making certain they were safe and that their play didn't get too out of control.  
  
There would be plenty of other chances, he decided, baring his teeth. Plenty. 


End file.
